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THE BOY 

WHO LOST HIS NAME 


BY 

CHRISTINE WARE 



THE ABINGDON PRESS 
NEW YORK CINCINNATI 



Copyright, 1921, by 
ARTHUR F. STEVENS 


MAR I I 1921 


g)CU611069 


TO 

P. c. 

WHOSE NAME IS LOVED AND HONORED 
THE WORLD AROUND 
AND 

WHOSE APPROVAL HAS BEEN KINDLY 
ACCORDED THE FOLLOWING 
ATTEMPTED ILLUSTRATION 
OF THREE PEDAGOGICAL PRINCIPLES 
THIS SIMPLE TALE IS 
AFFECTIONATELY 


DEDICATED 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTEB FAOB 

I. How He Lost It 7 

II. How He Fared Without It 17 

III. How He Started to Clean It Up 21 

IV. How He Kept Up the Cleaning 28 

V. How He Kept Up the Cleaning (Con- 
cluded) 38 

VI. How He Tried to Recover It First . . 47 

VII. How He Gained a New Name 54 

VIII. How He Tried Again to Recover His 

Own Name 60 

IX. How He Tried a Third Time 70 

X. How He Changed His Plan 77 

XI. How He Got Some Help 90 

XII. How He Won A Second New Name. . . 96 

XIII. How His Own Name Came Back 108 

XrV. How He Felt About It 116 




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CHAPTER I 
HOW HE LOST IT 


“TTERE’S a note Mr. Allen wanted me 
XJL to give you, dad.” 

As he spoke the lad hastily pushed an en- 
velope into his father’s hand and dashed back 
to the hall. 

‘‘Wait a minute, Dick! Do you know what’s 
in it?” asked Mr. Gardner, dropping the 
evening paper he had been looking over as 
he sat beside the cheery fire. 

“I guess so,” came slowly from the boy’s 
lips as he paused near the door. 

“Sit down while I read it.” 

Dick perched on the edge of the nearest chair. 

“Come here and read it yourself,” said his 
father, quietly, a moment later. 

With dragging feet the lad returned to the 
table where Mr. Gardner had laid the note. 
How horribly the typewritten lines stared up 
at him from the white page! Yes, they were 
all there, the three counts against him. 

“Is it true?” asked his father. 

7 


8 THE BOY WHO LOST HIS NAME 


‘T — I s’pose — yes, sir!’* 

At least the boy did not lie, and a look of 
relief passed swiftly over the man’s face. It 
was lost by his son, who stood sullenly glaring 
at the condemning sentences. He shivered a 
bit in anticipation of what might be coming 
to him, for his father’s rare “lickings” were 
unforgettable, and that tone of voice meant 
— anything! 

“Sit down here, Dick.” 

“Here” was mother’s low cushioned rocker 
on the other side of the fireplace, but Dick 
sat down as slowly and carefully as if it had 
been upholstered with tacks, points up. 

The rustling sheets of the newspaper slid 
to the floor as Mr. Gardner leaned back in 
the big morris chair, clasped his hands in 
his lap, and gazed into the leaping flames. 

“What is your full name, son?” he asked 
presently in a gentler tone. 

“Richard Ellison Gardner, Junior,” came 
the answer, somewhat muffled by the speak- 
er’s wonder. 

“Do you know that you are the eighth in 
direct line — from father to son — to bear that 
name?” 

“No, sir — I thought I was just the third.” 


HOW HE LOST IT 


9 


“Our ancestors were all fighters, Dick,” 
continued the pleasant voice. “They fought 
different things and in various ways, but they 
all fought to make this old world better so 
far as each man could.” 

And the boy’s face glowed and his heart 
burned as he listened to his father’s tale of 
the men of their line; of the early settler who 
had fought forest, famine, and fever, and 
taught his fellows how to conquer all three; 
how his son, a minister, had wrestled with 
evil of every sort, and had been in danger of 
his life often because of his fearless opposi- 
tion to oppression of any kind; about the 
grandson who had been a soldier in the Amer- 
ican Revolution; of the fourth in the line, who 
had striven for justice as a lawmaker and 
judge; of the fifth, a merchant, whose struggle 
to make his country a power in commerce 
had been successful in spite of great hindrances; 
of the sixth, who had fought against slavery 
at first with tongue and pen, then, as colonel 
of a regiment, with gun and sword. 

“You ought to be proud of a name like 
that, my lad — ” 

“Sure! I am, I am!” interjected the boy, 
passionately. 


10 THE BOY WHO LOST HIS NAME 


“And how do you treat it? It has been 
the name of six brave, true men — gentlemen; 
and you, the latest one to own it, throw it 
down and trample it in the mud and filth of 
dishonor and disgrace — a fellow who can’t play 
a gentlemanly game, who bullies a less for- 
tunate classmate, and cheats in a test!” 

The tone scorched, and Dick shrank back 
in his seat — what was coming this time? 

“Repeat after me now — Tn no circumstances 
whatever — am I to use — or let others use — any 
part or form of the name — Richard Ellison 
Gardner — as belonging to me — until my father 
— addresses me so again.’ ” 

Dick repeated the words dictated phrase by 
phrase, then recited the sentence entire twice, 
as bidden. 

“That is your punishment — do you under- 
stand? Now get to bed at once.” 

Puzzled and wondering, the ex- junior made 
ready for the night and fell asleep congrat- 
ulating himself that at any rate he had escaped 
“one of dad’s lickings.” 

Breakfast was bright and cheery as usual, 
and the youth quite forgot his disgrace until, 
as he was preparing to go out, his mother 
asked. 


HOW HE LOST IT 


11 


“Whither away. Laddie?’’ 

Now, the usual form of that question was 
“Whither bound. Dicky-bird?” and its new 
version startled him. It reminded him that 
he had not heard his name since rising; but 
he pulled himself together and answered, “To 
catch some flies on the ball-field, I guess. 
I’ll be home for lunch sure.” 

Once out of his mother’s sight he began to 
run — fast. He felt as if some dreadful phan- 
tom were pursuing him, and he must flee on 
and on — anywhere — to escape. So possessed 
was he by the thought of pursuit that he did 
not notice his surroundings till some familiar 
voices called, “Dick! Dick!” “Reg! Reg! 
Reg!” and finally, “Richard!” 

The tumult in the boy’s mind made him 
oblivious at first; then he noticed that the 
boys were calling him, and at last he realized 
that they were using the forbidden name. He 
stopped, turned back, and went over to them. 

“You mustn’t call me that,” he panted. 

“Not call you what?” 

“Those names.” 

“Why not?” 

The nameless boy longed to call it “a freak 
of father’s,” but the words, “They were brave, 


12 THE BOY WHO LOST HIS NAME 


true men/’ kept ringing in his ears, and he 
gasped out, 

‘TVe disgraced that name, and so I can’t 
use it or let anybody else use it now.” 

The boys looked meaningly at one another; 
then at him. 

“But what shall we call you? You’ll have 
to have some sort of a handle of course.” 

“I don’t know — anything you like, only not 
that,” sighed the still breathless boy, purple 
from his run and confession. 

That was the beginning of sorrows. 

When he went to bed that night he was 
wondering whether a licking every second day 
would have been as bad as this new kind of 
punishment. 

Sunday morning he rose in a rebellious 
frame of mind, and as breakfast was ending, 
announced that he would attend no church 
service that day. 

His father was tempted to compel him, but 
a keen look into the lad’s troubled face showed 
him such real suffering behind the apparent 
defiance that he checked the sarcastic “Coward 
too, are you?” almost on his lips and said, 
quite gently, “Very well, you may stay at 
home and think things* over.” 


HOW HE LOST IT 


13 


The Boy was late to dinner, but no notice 
of the fact was taken, and nothing was said 
to him till he and his father were alone in 
the sitting room while his mother was getting 
Leonard and Ruth to bed. Then Mr. Gardner 
remarked: 

“I missed you at church, Boy. It seemed 
a long way to Ruth.” 

“Didn’t Len sit next to you?” asked the 
Boy in surprise. 

“No, your place was empty.” The regret- 
ful tone gratified the lad. 

“I s’pose you know I didn’t stay at home.” 

“No?” asked Mr. Gardner, quietly. 

“No, I didn’t,” defiantly, “I couldn’t — it 
seemed ’s if I should smother — ’n’ I went down 
to the Novelty Club and watched the men 
play.” 

He had never been forbidden to go there, 
because his father had not thought it necessary, 
but he could not have chosen a place less to 
his father’s liking, and he knew it. 

Neither spoke for a moment, then Mr. 
Gardner inquired, 

“Did you think about things?” 

A faint, whimsical smile appeared briefly 
about the youngster’s lips. 


14 THE BOY WHO LOST HIS NAME 


“I — had to. I couldn’t think of anything 
else.” His face grew dark then, and he al- 
most choked with anger as he cried: 

“You haven’t got any right to take away 
my name like that — it’s against the law — it’s 
wicked to treat me so. I hate you, you — ” 

Two hands gripped his shoulders firmly 
amd a decisive voice said: 

“Stop it. Boy. Don’t say anything you’ll 
be sorry for later. Sit down here and cool 
off a bit, and then tell me who has taken away 
your name really.” 

The weary lad dropped on the cushions of 
the morris chair and turned his back on his 
father. 

Just then Mrs. Gardner came to the door 
saying, “I’m going over to Margaret’s to look 
after the children while she goes to the service. 
You won’t need to come for me, it’s so near. 
Good-night, Laddie.” 

There was a muttered response from the 
figure in the chair. Then Mr. Gardner helped 
his wife into her wraps and escorted her to 
the friend’s home. 

On his return he found the Boy angrily 
tramping the floor, but soon the latter re- 
established himself in the morris chair and 


HOW HE LOST IT 


15 


there was a long silence. The lad’s confused 
thoughts gradually ceased whirling in every 
direction and began a never-ending repetition 
— “You threw it down and trampled it — ^you 
threw it down and trampled it — ” He hid 
his face, he stopped his ears, he tried to think 
of his father’s meanness and cruelty — but 
nothing would end the monotonous grinding. 
On and on, over and over, the words said 
themselves. 

At last he rose and went to the couch where 
his father was trying to rest. 

“I s’pose you mean I did when I threw it 
down and trampled it,” he said despondently. 

Mr. Gardner took in his own the hands 
hanging so limply at the lad’s sides. 

“It’s the worst punishment you could have 
for what you did. Boy. I wanted you to 
appreciate how bad a thing it was to treat 
such an honored name so — ” 

That sentence was not finished, but the 
voice went on: “Perhaps, though, you do 
understand now; and if you say so. I’ll change 
it. You can decide about it while you are 
getting ready for bed. Good-night.” 

An hour or so later Mr. Gardner slipped 
silently into his older son’s room — he had had 


16 THE BOY WHO LOST HIS NAME 


a hard time himself over the matter. He was 
rejoicing that the boy had forgotten his troubles 
in sleep when a head was raised from the 
pillow. 

“That you, father? It’ll be — awful hard — 
awful hard — to lose my name, but I guess it 
isn’t any too hard a punishment for spoiling 
what our ancestors worked so hard all their 
lives to make.” 

The slight quiver in the brave voice went 
to the father’s heart. He found and gripped 
a hand, and the Boy only just heard the 
whispered reply; but as Mr. Gardner threw 
open his own chamber window he said to the 
night, “His fight is on.” 


CHAPTER n 

HOW HE FARED WITHOUT IT 

M onday — ^ yes, Monday morning, and a 
glorious dawn, but the Boy’s happy 
whoop suddenly died in his throat. O! why, 
why had he not refused to lose his name? 
His heart sank, he hid his face in the pillow 
— then he shut his teeth hard, muttering, “I 
won’t be a coward — I won’t,” and made such 
speed in dressing that he had time for a merry, 
self-forgetting romp with “Lady Ruth” before 
the bell rang. 

After breakfast the family accompanied Mr. 
Gardner to the front hall. Ruth made them 
all laugh by bringing her doll’s tiny four-inch 
suit-case, and saying as she gave it to her 
father, “It’s for mamma’s new toat, to b’ing 
it home in.” 

“We’ll let the tailor look after that. Lady- 
bug,” responded Mr. Gardner, handing the 
toy to his wife. “Want a slide?” And pick- 
ing the child up, he set her on his shoulder, 
cautioning her not to muss his hair, then let 
17 


18 THE BOY WHO LOST HIS NAME 


her slip down his arm, caught her in both 
hands and gently laid her at full length on the 
hall bench. As he looked up he noticed 
Leonard, who had been standing, stork-like, 
first on one foot, then on the other, eagerly 
watching. 

“A swing, is it?” he asked, smiling. 

“Please — ^yes, father!” and the little fellow 
jumped forward, put both his hands in his 
father’s left hand, raised his left foot, and 
when that was firmly fixed in his father’s 
right hand, put the other beside it and so hung 
suspended. Mr. Gardner swung him back and 
forth higher and higher, and finally, dropping 
his feet, let him down lightly and easily at the 
end of a long sweep. 

During these acrobatic performances the 
older son kept in the background, not feeling 
sure of his status, but he was not forgotten. As 
he reached for the doorknob Mr. Gardner said: 

“Where’s the Boy? O, there you are — 
Good-by, Boy.” 

And with the words came a look, such a 
man-to-man look, and so filled with respect, 
confidence, and affection that it marvelously 
reenforced Boy’s courage throughout that try- 
ing day. 


HOW HE FARED WITHOUT IT 19 


The Boy reached his schoolroom at eight- 
twenty-five. As the first bell was ringing, the 
boys were taking their seats and several 
greeted him by name. He sat down on his 
desk in easy fashion, and swinging his heels 
carelessly, responded, calmly, “You mustn’t 
call me that name now.” 

The surprise of those nearest him was con- 
tagious; the others left off their talk to listen. 

In a most indifferent manner the speaker 
continued : 

“I s’pose you all know I had to take a 
‘liner’ home Friday. Well, I didn’t get a lick- 
ing; I got this” — and he repeated his sentence 
word for word, concluding, “so it’s up to you 
to get up something else to call me.” 

“ ‘Something else to call you’ ?” 

It was Mr. Dutton, the history teacher, 
who had entered the room in time to hear the 
last words. Mr. Dutton was particular about 
manners, so the Boy hastily stood up straight 
and repeated once more his sentence. 

“I see,” said Mr. Dutton, thoughtfully. 
“For the present then I will call you Brutus.” 

“Brutus?” repeated the puzzled lad. 

“ ‘Brutus is an honorable man,’ ” quoted Mr. 
Dutton, and the Boy suddenly dropped into 


20 THE BOY WHO LOST HIS NAME 


his seat as the last bell rang, angry and re- 
bellious at the teacher’s unmerciful “rubbing 
of it in.” 

It was not much better elsewhere. With the 
French teacher he became “Monsieur Blanc” 
(blank); in Geometry he was “X” (Ex-); in 
Latin he was completely ignored — a nod in 
his direction was a call to recitation; the Eng- 
lish teacher termed him “Zero,” the watcher 
of a study-period addressed him as “Naught,” 
and his mates invented all sorts of appella- 
tions, for the most part uncomplimentary or 
aggravating. 

The long week dragged wearily by. As its 
days passed the Boy grew more and more 
sullen, and paid less and less heed to work 
of any kind. Nothing mattered any more; 
he was nobody; it was not worth while trying 
to do anything. He was possessed by a spirit 
of reckless inattention and indifference often 
mounting almost to insolence, but the puzzled 
teachers were lenient and waited, hoping that 
before long he would come to himself. 


CHAPTER in 


HOW HE STARTED TO CLEAN IT UP 
SECOND week passed in the same horri- 



jr\. ble, nightmare way, but Friday did 
finally arrive, and in the late afternoon, on his 
return home, the lad found Leonard and Ruth 
playing Tiddledywinks and was invited to join 
them. After a merry round of games, as they 
were picking up in obedience to the early 
supper summons, Leonard turned to his brother 
with the query, “Have you found your name 


yet.?’’ 


“No.” 

“Have you hunted awful hard?” 
“No.” 


“Then you can’t get it again, can you?” 
“Sure.” 

“When?” 

“O, some day.” 

“When you find it, will it be all clean and 
shiny?” 

“All scrubbed and polished,” laughed the 
Boy, much amused at the queer idea. 


22 THE BOY WHO LOST HIS NAME 


But when the little folks were settled at 
their evening meal he slowly mounted the 
stairs to his room, dropped on the couch in 
his favorite attitude — flat on his stomach, chin 
supported in his hands, and feet waving in 
the air wildly or mildly according to mood 
— and gazed out toward the sunset. 

‘‘Clean and shiny?” Of course. No one 
wanted a dirty name. That would be — ^yes, 
it would be — worse than none, hard as that 
was. But when he lost his it was all soiled 
and stained, dirty, muddy, filthy. How could 
he expect it to be all “clean and shiny” when 
he should get it back again? Who would clean 
it up for him? Who could? Not his father, 
who had given it to him in spotless condition; 
not his mother — not anybody else but — just 
himself! 

Well, then, the job was up to him! But 
how on earth could he do it? How did you 
clean things any way? Mostly with water — 
clean water of course, for dirty water would 
only make things worse. His name had been 
left “in the mud and filth of dishonor and dis- 
grace,” and he’d have to get down there after 
it with something like water to clean off the 
dirt. What in the world could he get? 


HOW HE STARTED TO CLEAN IT UP 23 


For a long time the feet braced quietly 
against each other while the eyes gazed fixedly 
at the darkening sky. Then suddenly the 
Boy slipped to his knees beside the couch and 
hid his flushed face and tear-filled eyes on his 
arm. 

When he responded to the dinner call, his 
listless indifference was gone, and Mr. Gardner 
watched him with a less anxious heart than 
hitherto. 

Saturday afternoon the Boy watched from 
afar the school team being badly beaten by 
a nine in the League not usually a rival, and 
the rest of the day found him very sober and 
thoughtful. From his retreat in the morris 
chair after dinner he asked his father once, 
‘Tf a thing has a stain or a bad spot in it, is 
it spoiled?” 

“It depends on the thing,” replied Mr. 
Gardner. “If you can wash out the stain or 
cut out the bad, the rest may be perfectly 
right — but you can’t do that with everything.” 

At bedtime the Boy paused beside his father. 

“Am I all spoiled?” 

Mr. Gardner drew him down to a perch on 
the edge of the couch. 


24 THE BOY WHO LOST HIS NAME 


“You are usually very obedient, you are un- 
selfish and kind with the children, especially 
Leonard, you have never so far as I know 
told a lie in your life, all which are such good 
things that — Boy, I can’t understand your 
cheating at all.” 

The hands in Mr. Gardner’s grasp clenched 
for a few seconds, then relaxed again. The 
softly shaded lamp was behind the Boy so 
that his face was scarcely visible, but his 
voice though low was clear. 

“That was just lazy, dad. I was in a hurry 
to get out to the ball-play, and the fellows 
all think that Dot — I mean Mr. Dutton — 
doesn’t correct our tests half the time, so I 
just picked up a sheet that Burr threw away 
’cause he’d made some little mistake on it, 
and fixed it in with mine, and passed it all 
in quick. I was only thinking of getting 
through — but it was cheating just the same.” 

There was a quick breath — then — 

“P’raps I’d better tell you ’bout everything 
so you’ll understand it all. The fellow I 
bullied is lots bigger than I am, but he’s a 
queer chap — scared-like, and if you’re at all 
fierce he begins to stutter and then gets so 
fussed that he just stands with his mouth open 


HOW HE STARTED TO CLEAN IT UP 25 


not making a sound, till finally he shuts it up 
with a snap and walks off looking as if he’d 
blubber pretty quick. Some of the kids 
thought it was mean, but I kept on ’cause 
I wanted to see him blubber and I thought 
he would some day. And one of the teachers 
happened — he wasn’t spying — he just happened 
to see the whole show and found the fellow 
fixing his things to leave the school forever. 
So I caught it. ’Twasn’t the regular kind of 
bullying, but ’twas bullying all right. 

“And the dirty ball — was — dirty. I’d play 
straight till they forgot ’bout me, and then I’d 
play tricks, ’cause I thought it was such fun 
to hear them yell and see the fuss. But one 
day the captain almost got his let-out, and the 
coach took me to Mr. Allen.” 

Not for months had Mr. Gardner any idea 
what the rapidly told story cost the teller, 
but up in his own room the lad gripped the 
window-casing hard as he whispered to a 
friendly looking star — 

“Do you s’pose that’s taken off any of the 
dirt?” 

At church the next morning the Boy nego- 
tiated a change of seats with Leonard, much 
to the youngster’s delight. He frequently 


26 THE BOY WHO LOST HIS NAME 


leaned forward to beam upon his brother 
sitting as far as possible from the rest at the 
further end of the pew, but not till sermon- 
time came did the brother trust himself to 
look that way. He generously smiled at Leon- 
ard, then at Ruth and his mother, but the 
look on his father’s half-averted face made 
him sit up like a ramrod and almost stare 
the preacher out of countenance lest he be- 
tray his own feelings. Much of the helpful 
discourse fell unheeded on his ears, but from 
the latter part he gathered some comfort 
and aid. 

The Boy had been taught by word and 
example that a simple, straightforward express- 
ing of affection was nothing of which to be 
ashamed, but rather manly and desirable, and 
so that night when his mother came to the 
sitting room he had her chair ready, and as 
soon as she was settled he knelt down before 
her, gripping the rocker-arms hard. 

“Little mother, I’m awfully ashamed of 
what I did at school — I never thought how 
bad it would make you feel — ” 

“Laddie, dear — ” she interrupted. 

“Please may I kiss you — just once — to say 
it that way too?” he begged, feeling quite un- 


HOW HE STARTED TO CLEAN IT UP 27 


worthy of such favors in his humiliated state 
of mind. 

“Dear Laddie,” she wliispered. 

So he rose, and perching on the arm of her 
rocker gave her a hearty “squeeze” and a 
light kiss on her forehead. 

“How did you learn all that lovering.^” asked 
Mr. Gardner, who had been watching with 
pleased eyes. 

“It’s dead easy — with mother. Didn’t you 
find it so, dad.^” 

“Sauce-box,” laughed Mr. Gardner. 

“You needn’t be jealous, I’ll fix you later,” 
threatened the lad. And as he started up- 
stairs he paused beside the couch. Speak aloud 
he could not, the remembrance of his father’s 
expression in the church service almost choked 
him, so he whispered rather huskily: 

“I’m down in the dirt and mud with my 
name, father, I’m so ashamed of myself — 
and so sorry. Can you ever forgive me?” 


CHAPTER IV 


HOW HE KEPT UP THE CLEANING 

S OMEHOW the world seemed brighter next 
morning — even though the school session 
loomed darkly. Things would be different, 
he thought — and they were. 

After the pause in Mr. Varney’s roll-call 
which had represented the Boy’s lost name, 
a clear “Present” surprised the class. Mr. 
Varney glanced up, but finding a pair of steady 
eyes gazing respectfully into his own, he made 
some cabalistic mark in his book and pro- 
ceeded. The following morning Fessenden’s 
“Present” was succeeded by “U,” and a 
pleasant glance from the teacher told the 
Boy that with Mr. Varney he was once more 
a personality and no longer to be ignored. 
He gladly used the letter as a signature for 
board and written work, and the new footing 
helped him to take some interest in the hitherto 
hated Latin, so that he presently reached a 
safer standing. 

Monday’s second period was a “study” for 
28 


HOW HE KEPT UP THE CLEANING 29 


him, and this time, instead of sitting in list- 
less thought-wanderings, the Boy found out 
the geometry lesson and set to work, “Math” 
was his favorite subject, but he discovered to 
his dismay that two weeks of inattention had 
left him quite behind his classmates. Wisely 
he began where he had left off, but he had 
gone over only half the necessary ground 
when the period closed, and he was still trying 
to study as he entered Mr. Bowles’s room. 

That gentleman looked so energetic and alert 
that the boys punched one another as they 
took their seats, muttering under their breath, 
“Gee! Bull’s ready to fight, isn’t he.?^” 
“Bet he floored some one last class — ” 

“He’ll bowl over the first chap, sure,” and 
so on. 

Mr. Bowles rang his bell and took a survey 
of the class of such sort that each fellow won- 
dered if he had ever thought he knew any 
geometry. 

“All present — good. X.” 

“X” rose, hesitated about asking to be ex- 
cused from reciting, but decided that he had 
no excuse and so must face the music. 

“Go ahead with the first proposition. Use 
the figure behind me.” 


30 THE BOY WHO LOST HIS NAME 


‘1 can’t, sir.” 

“Why not?” 

“I haven’t studied it yet.” 

“Again, why not?” 

“I haven’t caught up.” 

“What did you say? You have not been 
absent.” 

“No, sir, only absent-minded.” 

Mr. Bowles scowled. He disliked jokes, so 
X’s heedless remark did not mend matters. 

“What point have you reached?” 

“The corollary to Theorem XVII.” 

“Indeed!” 

X’s cheeks grew rather red as he struggled 
for self-control. Then he looked his sarcastic 
teacher full in the face. 

“It’s all my own fault, Mr. Bull, I ought — ” 

The boys gasped. 

“Why do you call me ‘Bull’? That’s not 
my name — ” 

“0 yes, it is, sir; it’s your nickname.” 

Mr. Bowles stared and glared, and the boys 
sat up in consternation. 

“My nickname?” Mr. Bowles repeated. “Is 
there any more of it?” 

“Yes, sir,” replied the now horrified but still 
truthful X, “it’s Ole Bull.” 


HOW HE KEPT UP THE CLEANING 31 


‘‘Ole Bull,” repeated the teacher again. 
“Not so bad as it might be, but why do you 
call me that?” 

X was by now as red as a boiled lobster, but 
he went on undauntedly. 

“Because you go for us boys so hard and 
play the violin so much.” 

There was a moment’s silence during which 
the boys scarcely breathed. Then Mr. Bowles 
flicked a bit of dust from his sleeve, looked at 
X, and said, quietly: 

“Thank you. I believe I interrupted you. 
You were saying you ought — ” 

“It’s all my own fault that I’m behind, Mr. 
Bowles” — X was careful this time — “I ought 
to have paid attention and studied. I’m sorry.” 

Mr. Bowles considered briefly. 

“Sit down.” He seated himself . “Now, where 
did you leave off?” 

Then followed a new and lively sort of 
review of the work X had covered that morn- 
ing which left no one in darkness on any point. 

When the bell rang Mr. Bowles said: “Same 
lesson for to-morrow, boys.” Then, turning to 
X, he added, “Shall I help you with the rest 
after school?” 

X hesitated, then ventured to respond. 


32 THE BOY WHO LOST HIS NAME 


“Thank you ever so much, sir; but wouldn’t 
it be fairer for me to do what I can with it 
alone and get the rest in class?” 

Mr. Bowles looked at him soberly for a 
moment, then with a most unwonted smile of 
fun on his usually stern face, he said: 

“Fairer and much better. Really, X, I 
don’t know about your violin playing, but you 
have certainly pushed me so hard this morn- 
ing, and gone so straight to the mark that I 
think you have fairly earned the nickname of 
Bull-let.” 

He disappeared before the astounded boys 
recovered their wits, but during recess the 
tale spread like wildfire, and unbounded was 
the astonishment over “Bull’s new streak.” 
“Must be a bully fellow after all,” was the 
general conclusion. 

Two boys, however, did not discuss that 
matter during the half-hour in the open. As 
the Boy reached the outer door he made a 
quick survey of the playground, and seeing 
a group of larger boys at the further end of 
the building, made his way thither. No one 
guessed that the hands in his pockets were 
fiercely gripping all the available hardware in 
those receptacles. 


HOW HE KEPT UP THE CLEANING 33 


“Archer/’ he said, as he reached the group 
and noticed that it contained the very fellows 
who had witnessed the last badgering, “if 
you’d kindly wipe up the ground with me — 
or — or d8 anything else you like, I’d feel a 
heap better — about — what’s past.” 

To the intense surprise of his auditors Archer 
responded without the slightest sign of em- 
barrassment. 

“O, shut up! you’re all right — I’ve been too 
much of a baby — an’ I’ve just got to quit — ” 

“But I’ve been the nastiest — ” 

“That’s enough of that. If you’d just help 
me — 

With unexpected delicacy the other boys 
melted away and left the two to a talk of such 
an intimate and friendly nature that when 
Mr. Allen glanced from his oflfice window to 
see if any laggards had missed the warning 
bell, he saw — and looked again to be sure he 
was seeing straight — ^Archer’s arm around his 
former tormentor’s shoulder as they marched 
in step toward the door. 

At half-past one the Boy gathered up a few 
books for home study — a new departure for 
him — then hastened to Mr. Allen’s office. 
There was another affair to settle if possible. 


34 THE BOY WHO LOST HIS NAME 


The master looked up as he entered. 

“O! it’s you, is it.^ What do you want?” 

“Mr. Allen, do you think Mr. Nisson would 
let me play on a scrub?” 

Mr. Allen considered. He was tempted to 
refuse unconditionally, but he had just heard 
and seen things which made him hesitate. 

“I don’t know; suppose we ask him,” was 
his response finally, and turning to the telephone 
at his elbow he signaled the gymnasium. 

“Is Carl there? ... All right, as soon as he 
can.” He hung up the receiver. 

“Better sit down while you wait.” 

“I’ve been sitting so long I guess I’d rather 
stand, thank you,” and the Boy went to the 
window and looked at the playground — so 
familiar and full of varied reminiscences. 

After some ten minutes quick steps came 
along the hall and Mr. Nisson hastened in. 

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t get here sooner, 
Uncle, what is it?” 

“That’s all right, Carl, glad to get you at all. 
He wants to talk with you,” with a wave 
toward the window. 

“But I don’t want to talk with him,” and 
Mr. Nisson looked disgusted. 

“I donT blame you, Mr. Nisson, but please 


HOW HE KEPT UP THE CLEANING 35 


will you let me say something?” asked the 
Boy, turning but not advancing. 

“I’m waiting,” responded the gym teacher, 
shortly. 

“Please sit down a minute,” said the Boy, 
pushing a chair forward and taking his place 
in front of the two men. 

As he stood before them the strong light 
from the window fell almost fiercely on him. 
He was evidently tired and found it hard to 
carry out hi^ purpose, but there was a sort of 
do-or-die air about him which impressed both 
the teachers. 

“I suppose I’ve no right even to think of 
such a thing, Mr. Nisson, but I’m asking you 
to let me get up a scrub and play on it myself.” 

“When I want dirty ball. I’ll be glad to 
send you an invitation.” 

The Boy grew a little white. 

“Won’t you please let me if I promise to 
play clean all the time?” 

“Even a written, witnessed promise is no 
good without a signature.” 

The Boy flushed and looked down — he had 
forgotten that — then he raised his head proudly. 

“My father says I never told a lie in my life, 
and if I promise, I’ll keep it, name or no name.” 


36 THE BOY WHO LOST HIS NAME 


Mr. Nisson studied him silently. 

“I’ll tell you why I want to — I watched the 
game Saturday, and I was scared stiff at the 
way the fellows played — they made so many 
errors and fumbles, it was rotten. They’ll 
come out at the bottom if they don’t do better 
than that. It seemed as if they didn’t care to 
half try, though Cap worked awful hard to stir 
’em up. And afterward I thought pr’aps they 
needed a real good scrub to practice with so 
they’d have to work hard right along — then they 
could do something in the League games — ” 

“So you’re wanting me to make you captain 
of a scrub and let you teach a lot more how 
not to play baseball?” asked the coach. 

At first the Boy seemed not to hear; his 
eyes had a far-away look as he gazed out the 
window. Then he looked Mr. Nisson squarely 
in the face again, saying quietly: 

“I haven’t got any name just now to work 
for or care about, but the school has — a good 
one — and if I can do anything to keep it good 
or make it better, you just tell me what to do 
and I’ll do it.” 

“Be at the ball-ground at three-fifteen 
sharp,” was the quick reply as Mr. Nisson 
rose and turned to Mr. Allen. 


HOW HE KEPT UP THE CLEANING 37 


As the Boy reached the outside door he sud- 
denly remembered his books and flew back 
to the office. There he found Mr. Nisson 
kneeling beside Mr. Allen, talking very rapidly 
with tears in his voice if not in his eyes, and 
Mr. Allen’s hands on his shoulders. 

“O! please excuse me, I forgot my books,” 
he gasped as he dashed in and out again with 
all possible speed, and while he hurried home- 
ward he tried to reconcile the scene with former 
meetings of the two men. 


CHAPTER V 

HOW HE KEPT UP THE CLEANING 
(Concluded) 

S the Boy rounded the last street corner 



xTL on his way home after the ball practice 
he noticed Dr. Perry, the minister, a few rods 
ahead. In spite of considerably slackening his 
speed he reached the foot of the house steps 
just as the Doctor was about to mount them, 
and the minister in turning caught sight of him. 

Instantly the lad’s cap came off. 

“How do you do. Dr. Perry? Mother’s at 
some meeting this afternoon, and father hasn’t 
come home yet. Can I give them your mes- 
sage?” 

Dr. Perry smiled. 

“But I didn’t want them. I came to see you.” 

“Me!” gasped the astonished Boy. Then, 
recollecting himself, he hastily added, “Please 
go on up, and I’ll run round and open the 
door.” 

As he sped away to the back of the house 
his thoughts worked fast too. “Great Scott, 
Gee Whiz, and all the rest! Dr. Perry come 


88 


HOW HE KEPT UP THE CLEANING 39 


to see him! WTiat did you do when the min- 
ister came to see you? What could he want? 
Was he going to scold — ” 

By that time he had opened the door and 
was looking into a pair of such friendly eyes 
that his fear fled. He laid his caller’s hat on 
the table and led the way to the living room. 
With a fine instinct of hospitality he estab- 
lished his visitor in the big morris chair, drew 
up his mother’s rocker for himself, and lighted 
the fire which was laid in the fireplace. For 
a few minutes both watched the kindling 
flames in silence; then turning to the minister 
the lad asked with a boy’s blunt directness, 
“What did you come to see me/or. Dr. Perry?” 
The answer was equally direct. 

“You looked at me so hard yesterday during 
the sermon that I wondered if anything were 
troubling you, and whether I could help you 
at all. Can I, Dick?” 

The Boy suddenly shoved his chair back — 
he felt too warm. How could he tell Dr. Perry? 
But of course he had to. 

“I thought everybody knew,” he said with 
difficulty, “that I disgraced my name at school 
and father won’t let me or anybody else use 
it now — not in any way.” 


40 THE BOY WHO LOST HIS NAME 


“That’s a hard one, isn’t it?” 

The tone was so sympathetic that the Boy 
looked up. 

“The worst of it is,” he explained in a 
steady voice, although his lips would tremble 
a little, “that I don’t know how long it’ll 
last. Father said till he called me by it again, 
and I can’t tell when that will be.” 

“Of course you’ve tried to set things right 
again?” 

“Yes, sir,” was the quick response from a 
heart thankful that its owner could truth- 
fully make such a reply. 

“Good.” 

After a moment’s pause the Boy asked, 
“Have you got your father’s name too?” 

“Only the Perry,” replied the minister with 
quick understanding of the Boy’s interest in 
the topic. “My mother died before I was old 
enough to care much about my name, and no 
one else knew why she wanted me to be Ralph 
Somers. So, you see, I’m having to make my 
own reputation — ” 

“You’re doing it all right; the people at 
the church all think you’re fine,” burst out 
the Boy more enthusiastically than politely. 

“ — ^But I’ve had plenty of nicknames,” went 


HOW HE KEPT UP THE CLEANING 41 


on Dr. Perry, not heeding the interruption. 
“My father used to call me ‘Hardscrabble,’ I 
made such work of creeping and learning to 
walk. Then I became ‘Periwinkle,’ ‘Winks,’ 
and so on. But the one that stuck longest 
was given me by a substitute teacher acci- 
dentally.” 

He leaned forward and began telling the 
tale so animatedly and naturally that the Boy 
already felt as if they had long been chums. 
He listened fascinated as Dr. Perry described 
the occasion, and so made an exchange of ex- 
periences easy. 

All too soon the clock struck six and Dr. 
Perry rose. 

“I mustn’t keep you any longer.” 

“You aren’t keeping me, and I’m awful 
glad you came. I was scared first, but I’m 
not now, and you’ve helped me a good deal 
telling me things.” 

After handing Dr. Perry his hat, he picked 
up his own cap and followed him outside, 
saying, 

“I’m going down to Walnut Street to meet 
father. He likes to walk up through the park 
and get the fresh air, and it’s about time for 
him to be coming.” 


42 THE BOY WHO LOST HIS NAME 


“May I go too? I’d walk three times as 
far any day to get a look at that fine father 
of yours.” 

A merry chat they had during the ten- 
minute stroll to meet the trolley car, and Mr. 
Gardner’s face brightened as he saw them 
approaching. After their mutual greetings he 
tried to express to Dr. Perry his appreciation 
of the latter’s courtesy, but the young man 
would not allow it. 

“The favor and pleasure are mine, Mr. 
Gardner. It tones me right up to see you. 
You have put up such a splendid fight in a 
long, hard battle that you’re an inspiration 
to us all, and we’re more than glad to see you 
winning out — ” 

“O, come now. Perry, you’re reckless with 
your bouquets!” 

“No flowers of any kind about my re- 
marks, Mr. Gardner,” replied Dr. Perry, 
earnestly. “But when a young fellow who 
knows what fierce temptation is and has to 
meet it almost daily, says to me, ‘Whenever 
I hear Mr. Gardner’s name it helps me. My 
own name will never go very high, but wher- 
ever it does go, it’s got to stay as clean and 
bright as his,’ it seems to me only just that 


HOW HE KEPT UP THE CLEANING 43 

you should be told somethiug of wliat you 
are and stand for to your fellow citizens.” 

you meet Dr. Perry on your way down 
here?” asked Mr. Gardner as they turned 
homeward after watching the minister’s tall 
figure pass out of sight in the thronged avenue. 

An amused smile lit up the Boy’s face as he 
replied, 

“No, sir. You’d never guess, so I’ll have 
to tell you. He came to the house to see me!” 

“Really?” 

“Really and truly. I was scared stiff first 
off, but he was awfully jolly, told me about 
things he did when he was a boy — not so very 
long ago either, I guess, was it? And then we 
talked — about — names — some — ’ ’ 

Mr. Gardner’s heart smote him as he saw 
the Boy’s animated expression transformed to a 
wistful, far-away look, but — 

“He’s great, isn’t he?” resumed the lad, and 
rapidly retold one of the preacher’s early expe- 
riences which brought smiles to both faces. 

After dinner the Boy disappeared momen- 
tarily, then returned with an armful of books 
which, in some embarrassment, he placed in a 
chair. Then he drew up to the table the chair 
in which he usually sat and read evenings. 


44 THE BOY WHO LOST HIS NAME 


and selecting a book began to regard its pages. 
But something seemed to be the matter. The 
leaves did not get turned, and he squirmed 
rather uneasily, so that presently Mrs. Gardner, 
who was reading nearby, looked inquiringly at 
the open book. 

“Geometry?’’ she exclaimed in surprise. 

The Boy grew red as a beet, then he rose 
and walked around to her side of the table, 
still holding the volume. 

“That’s one of the things I’m ashamed of,” 
he said honestly. “I didn’t study a bit for 
two weeks, so I’m ’way behind, and I’ll have 
to work nights to catch up — do you mind?” 

“Very much,” and her smile changed the 
Boy’s restlessness and uncertainty to ada- 
mantine purpose. 

“Wouldn’t it be easier to study at the 
table?” she asked, quietly moving papers and 
other articles away so as to give him plenty 
of space at the further end from her rocker. 
She usually sat where she could look frequently 
at Mr. Gardner, resting on the couch, and now 
the Boy also would be in the direct line of 
vision. The latter was too much relieved to 
sit with his back to his father to mind her 
occasional glances, and he soon became so 


HOW HE KEPT UP THE CLEANING 45 


absorbed and quiet that he had to be ad- 
dressed twice when his bedtime signal came. 

Instead of going directly to his own room 
as soon as he reached the top of the stairs 
the Boy turned into the bay-window over the 
front door, from which position he could see a 
considerable distance up and down the street. 
The lamps set on either side of the roadway 
at frequent intervals shone steadily through 
their clear glass shades, making the whole 
distance bright, while over at the corner of 
the boulevard the big arc light in its clouded 
globe seemed a mild sun in its illuminating 
power. 

“The little fellows are like plain, everyday 
folks with clean names,” he thought, “and 
the big buster one is father. So he’s a fighter 
too! He never said a thing about it when he 
told me about the others — I wonder if that’s 
what makes him so tired nights. Wish I knew 
what he’s fighting, ’cause I’d like — to — help — 
if— I— could.” 

The sudden realization that in his present 
disgraced condition no one would want his 
aid gave him such a keen pain that he shut 
his teeth hard and hid his face in the curtain 
to keep back the tears. But presently he 


46 THE BOY WHO LOST HIS NAME 


looked out again at the steady smaller lights 
and after a while he spoke two words aloud: 
“Some day — ” 

Then he turned in. 

Two weeks later as Mr. Allen was crossing 
the schoolyard he spied Mr. Nisson emerging 
from the gymnasium and quickly overtaking 
him asked rather abruptly, “How is the 
‘Scrubber’ coming on.'^” 

“Fine,” was the smiling response. “He’s 
really the best player m the school now, square 
deal every time, and pretty — you wouldn’t 
believe how the fellows have to work to beat 
him, for he’s about the whole scrub. I offered 
him a place on the school team one day. He 
got as red as fire first, then asked, ‘Do you 
mean that, Mr. Nisson ‘I mean exactly 
that,’ I answered. Then he straightened up 
stiff with his head as high as he could get it 
and said, ‘There’s only one thing I’d like 
better, Mr. Nisson, but it wouldn’t be fair to 
the team, and perhaps I can help just as 
much by the practice work and rooting at 
the games.’ He’s all right. Messed things up 
at first, but he’s dropped the dirt clean out, 
and the boys are getting to know it.” 


CHAPTER VI 


HOW HE TRIED TO RECOVER IT FIRST 



EDNESDAY afternoon as the uptown 


Hill Avenue car left the transfer sta- 


tion at Orange Street, of its former over- 
crowded load only three women, two men, 
and a boy remained on board. With a sigh of 
relief the men, evidently friends recently met, 
took the seat directly behind the boy and be- 
gan talking. After some inquiries regarding 
local matters one asked, 

“Do you know Gardner — R. E. Gardner?” 

“No, who is he?” 

“He’s a fine chap, junior member of Merrill, 
Andrew and Gardner — ” 

“The firm that got so nearly smashed along 
back?” 

“Yes, and he’s the fellow that’s brought 
them through; they’re pretty nearly safe now. 
He’s worked like a slave to do it, and it’s 
almost used him up. His father didn’t marry 
till after the Civil War, and he was the only 


47 


48 THE BOY WHO LOST HIS NAME 


child, always delicate, never could tear ’round 
like the other chaps, but he was never grumpy 
about it, they say.” 

“Must have had good care at home to stand 
such a pull — what sort of a wife has he got?” 

“The very best, daughter of Leonard Halsey, 
of Marlboro.” 

“Good stock.” 

“She sympathized with his plans and has 
stood by in fine shape.” 

“Why didn’t he let the firm slide and get 
into something else? Couldn’t he have done 
as well elsewhere?” 

“Much better, but he was too honorable — 
wouldn’t let the creditors suffer — ^nor his name 
either; he’s prouder than Lucifer of that.” 

“Why?” 

“O, it’s an uncommonly fine record — all 
fighters one way or another. He seems some- 
times almost like one of the oldtime knights, 
you know.” 

“I’d like to know him — ” 

“I wish I did.” 

“Why don’t you?” 

“Too much of a black sheep to have the 
honor,” laughed the speaker, adding very 
slowly and thoughtfully, “He did a mighty 


HOW HE TRIED TO RECOVER IT 49 


queer thing the other day — don’t believe I 
could have done it even if I’d thought of such 
a proposition.” 

“What was it?” 

“Took his boy’s name away.” 

“What! How?” 

“Took his boy’s name away — wouldn’t let 
him use it in any form at all.” 

“You don’t say! Poor kid!” 

“He’s mighty fond of the youngster too.” 

“Do you know it for a fact?” 

“Sure. Allen, the master of the school 
where the boy goes, told us one night down at 
the City Club. He gave us most of the facts 
and said it was being a great help about 
straightening up the boys, and he wondered 
if it mightn’t do the same for the fathers. 
It has — ^here,” he added, laughingly tapping 
his own chest. 

“What do they call the kid?” pursued the 
visitor, inwardly wondering if the ears of the 
boy in front had been windburned — they were 
so very red. 

“The teachers call him by letters, like U 
and X, and the fellows have made up all sorts 
of nicknames, but he’s mostly known as ‘the 
Boy who lost his name.’ ” 


50 THE BOY WHO LOST HIS NAME 


At that point the lad in front suddenly 
turned, pulled off his cap, and looking straight 
at them, although his face was as red as his 
guilty ears, said, 

“I’m not much of a gentleman, am I, for 
IVe been listening to everything you’ve said, 
and I’m not a bit sorry, either.” 

The men looked rather surprised. 

“You see,” the lad went on swiftly, “I know 
Mr. Gardner, and he doesn’t think he’s much 
himself at all, and he works so hard days 
that he has to rest evenings and can’t do things 
he likes — not even when he goes away for just 
a week in the summer. He wouldn’t go away 
at all only he’d be down sick and then he 
couldn’t work. And — and — I thought if you 
didn’t mind very much, I could tell him what 
you said about him — they were such fine 
things — and maybe it would help him some, 
for he gets just awful tired sometimes.” 

Two clear eyes looked eagerly at the men. 
After a glance at each other one got out a 
card and wrote briefly on it, while the visitor, 
fumbling in his pocket for a bit of paper on 
which to scribble, said rather sarcastically: 

‘^ou seem to know Mr. Gardner’s ways 
pretty well. Are you his private secretary?” 


HOW HE TRIED TO RECOVER IT 51 


In spite of his anxiety for their permission 
the lad laughed. 

“No, sir, not at all, but — I live at his house.” 

“Indeed,” said the visitor, putting his scrap 
of paper and the other’s cardjn an envelope 
that had turned up from somewhere. “Then 
who are you?” 

The boy reached up and pressed the signal 
button, then, rising, faced them again, rather 
pale but steady of eye and voice. 

“Please excuse me, but I have to stop here 
this time. I’m ‘the Boy who lost his name,’ 
sir — and — don’t blame father, please, ’cause — 
I — deserved it all right.” 

“When you tell your father what we said, 
give him this,” said the visitor, handing over 
the envelope. 

With a hurried “Thank you no end,” the 
Boy dashed out forward, but paused as the 
car passed him to wave his cap to the two 
men, who smiled back at his bright face and 
thoughtfully watched him sprint for the curb. 

The next morning Mr. Gardner received an 
unknown caller in his office. 

“I’m in Renfrew looking up investments,” 
he said, “and something I heard yesterday 
made me think that perhaps we could fix 


52 THE BOY WHO LOST HIS NAME 


up some business with your firm. Here’s my 
card.” 

Mr. Gardner read the name of one of the 
greatest banking firms in the country. 

‘T don’t know to whom I’m indebted for 
such a happy introduction,” he said after the 
business had been transacted and an immense 
burden removed from his heart and mind, “but 
I assure you I am most grateful for your help 
and confidence just now.” 

Mr. Miller looked at him thoughtfully. 

“Mr. Parker — Herbert Parker — told me 
about you without any idea of my coming to 
see you. You’ve a fine boy, Mr. Gardner. 
Aren’t you rather hard on him, taking away 
his name? I suppose he was no worse than 
any ordinary boy in what he did?” 

“No^” said Mr. Gardner, quietly, “only he 
can’t be ‘any ordinary boy.’ ” 

What Mr. Miller thought as he keenly 
scanned Mr. Gardner from head to foot he 
did not state. He only asked: 

“Let me know how he comes out, will you? 
I liked his looks.” 

Suddenly Mr. Gardner had a flash of illu- 
mination. 

“You were one of the two men who gave 


HOW HE TRIED TO RECOVER IT 53 


him messages for me on the street-car yes- 
terday?’’ 

Mr. Miller looked surprised. “Didn’t he 
give you — ” 

“Yes, he told me everything and gave me 
the envelope, but I must confess I was so 
annoyed at — at — ” 

“Being gossiped over?” suggested Mr. Miller, 
mischievously. 

Mr. Gardner laughed — “That I did not look 
at its contents — just slipped it into my pocket 
— it must be at home there now — I beg your 
pardon.” 

“You needn’t be vexed about it — he was all 
right. He stood up for you — took all the blame 
on himself.” He looked out the window a 
moment, then added, “I wish my boy could 
say that,” and Mr. Gardner was the first 
person to see the other man’s face transformed 
by repentance and longing for his absent son. 


CHAPTER VII 


HOW HE GAINED A NEW NAME 

F or some reason best known to himself 
Mr. Dutton moved forward the date of 
the monthly history test two days. The boys 
were not pleased, least of all Brutus, for his 
text-book had unaccountably disappeared so 
that he had been unable to study the day’s 
lesson or to review. After the paper had been 
given out he sat very still for a moment, then, 
without asking permission or even looking at 
his teacher, he took a detached desk in the 
corner of the room where he was quite isolated 
from the rest of the class. Mr. Dutton started 
to speak, but thought better of it, and instead 
kept a close but unnoticed watch of the lad 
throughout the hour, marking that neither 
eyes nor hands were permitted to wander be- 
yond the desktop. When he handed in his 
work Brutus looked at Mr. Dutton, but that 
gentleman’s eyes were occupied with the page 
of his record-book, so the boy picked up his 
books and passed out with the rest. 

54 


HOW HE GAINED A NEW NAME 55 


As he was about to dismiss the class on 
Friday Mr. Dutton said, “I want to see Nichols, 
Farnsworth, and Brutus. The rest are 
excused.’’ 

Brutus was annoyed and looked it. Mr. 
Nisson wanted the boys on hand promptly 
that afternoon for some special ball practice, 
and he had planned to do an errand for his 
mother beforehand. However, there was no 
help for it, so he sank back in his seat and half- 
heartedly tried to reread the day’s Latin while 
Mr. Dutton interviewed the other two boys. 

At ten minutes of two the teacher addressed 
him. 

“Your turn, Brutus.” 

“Yes, sir,” and the boy rose languidly. 

“During the examination on Wednesday you 
took this seat in the corner without asking 
permission — why?” said Mr. Dutton, laying 
the boy’s corrected test on the desk. 

Brutus’s color flamed all over his face, but 
his eyes looked straight into his teacher’s. 

“I cheated on the last one, and I thought 
perhaps you’d understand that I wasn’t go- 
ing to this time if I sat off there by myself.” 

“Were there any books in the desk?” 

“Not that I know of,” 


56 THE BOY WHO LOST HIS NAME 


“Go and see.” 

The boy went to the desk, stooped down and 
looked in. 

“There’s one here, sir.” 

“What is it?” 

Wonderingly he examined it. “A history.” 

“Whose?” 

“Mine, sir, that I couldn’t find Tuesday or 
any day since.” 

“There seem to be more ways than one of 
cheating,” remarked Mr. Dutton as Brutus 
came back and laid the book before him. 

The boy shut his teeth hard and paused a 
moment before speaking, then he faced his 
teacher again. 

“I was straight this time, Mr. Dutton. I 
didn’t have one bit of help — every word in that 
test is mine and not from any book or paper 
or anything else. But after what I did before, 
I s’pose I can’t expect you to believe me now, 
so I’ll just have to take zero again.” 

In a sudden fit of anger and disgust he 
seized the test almost from Mr. Dutton’s 
grasp, tore the sheets across and threw them 
on the floor, then turned his back and moved 
to his seat, the one directly in front of the 
teacher’s desk. 


HOW HE GAINED A NEW NAME 57 


“Brutus!” 

“Yes, sir,” and he half turned. 

“Was that gentlemanly 

“I s’pose — I guess — No, sir.” 

“Then—” 

The boy sat down, planted his elbows on 
the desk, put his chin in his hands and glared 
at the torn papers on the floor. Mr. Dutton 
watched him in silence. 

Perhaps it was five minutes later that he 
rose quietly, picked up the papers, and fitting 
them together as well as he could, laid them 
before his teacher. 

“I’m sorry I was so rude, Mr. Dutton. 
Please excuse me.” As he raised his eyes, he 
was surprised at the look on the face opposite 
him. 

“Gladly. Have you anything else to say 
to me?” 

Was this the chance he had been wondering 
about and looking for? Had Mr. Dutton been 
expecting and waiting for him to speak all 
this time? 

“You never said anything to me about that 
test, so I didn’t know whether I ought to, 
but I’m awfully ashamed of that and the 
other things. Perhaps you think I like to 


58 THE BOY WHO LOST HIS NAME 


cheat and be a mean skunk other ways, but I 
don’t, and — ” 

‘T know that you were perfectly honest in 
this test, and that you have proved yourself 
a gentleman just now.” Mr. Dutton had 
risen and come to the front of his desk, where 
he held out his hand as he smilingly added, 
“Good-by, MiUer.” 

The boy hesitated. “I — I don’t understand, 
sir.” 

“Brutus doesn’t fit any longer, and I thought 
you would like this.” 

“Is it for any one specially?” 

“Can’t you guess?” 

“Do you mean Mr. Robert Gordon Miller?” 

“The very same.” 

The lad felt humiliated that he kept blush- 
ing like a girl, but how could you help it if 
people said such things? 

“He wouldn’t care to have me use his 
name — ” 

“We talked about you last evening. He’s 
in town on business, and he seemed rather 
pleased — said he should expect you to re- 
flect credit on it. You can telephone him at 
Main 1300 before four o’clock if you wish — 
I think he would like it.” 


HOW HE GAINED A NEW NAME 59 


“I guess I will. Thank you ever so much, 
Mr. Dutton,” and the boy’s shining eyes and 
hearty grip of his hand told the man far more 
than the modest words. 


CHAPTER Vm 


HOW HE TRIED AGAIN TO RECOVER 
HIS OWN NAME 

HAT proved a lively and distracting 



JL afternoon. He had expected a cold 
lunch as he was so late home, and sent Dora 
smiling happily to the kitchen because of his 
hilarious gratitude over the appetizingly hot 
viands she brought him. 

He telephoned Mr. Miller, and left the 
instrument with a fine glow in eyes and heart 
over the kind words of that gentleman. 

He apologized to Mr. Nisson for his late 
arrival and received a smile and the remark, 
“That’s all right. You don’t need the extra 
touches as much as the rest.” And they 
finished the practice early enough for him to 
do his mother’s errand. 

Just as he was turning from the crowded 
avenue into a quieter street on his way home, 
he noticed a newsboy on the corner winking 
unnaturally fast, and glancing about for a 
cause spied two smaller boys slinking away 
suspiciously. 


60 


HOW HE TRIED FOR HIS OWN NAME 61 


“Any trouble?’’ he inquired, stepping close 
beside the newsboy to be out of the stream of 
passers-by. 

The boy shook his head — then glanced up, 
and seeing the interested face, gulped once or 
twice and managed to get out, “Nothin’ much,” 

As the stranger did not move away, he 
looked up again, and this time there was fire 
in his eyes. 

“I’d like to choke them kids — alius rubbin’ 
it in ’bout my name — but they’re too small 
for me to touch, and they know it.” 

Recollections heightened the Boy’s color as 
he asked, “What’s the matter with your name?” 

“Nothin’.” 

“What is it?” 

“Smith.” 

“WThat Smith?” 

“Just Smith, that’s all, I don’t know any 
more, and them fellers keep sayin’ it must 
be L. U. Smith, for Lock-up Smith, or 
Smithereens, or Black Smith, or — I’d like to 
knock them into smithereens — ” and he gazed 
moodily in the direction his tormentors had 
taken. 

“Well, why don’t you get some more name, 
then?” 


62 THE BOY WHO LOST HIS NAME 


“Could I?” 

“Sure.” 

“How?” 

“O, just choose some more and — ^and be 
baptized,” said the Boy, a little embarrassed 
by the question. His eyes were sweeping the 
opposite sidewalk in search of inspiration — and 
suddenly he found it. 

“There’s Dr. Perry. He’ll know how. You 
wait a minute,” and he dashed across the 
street. 

During his brief absence the newsboy dis- 
posed of his last few papers, then returned 
to the comer curbing. Almost at once the 
Boy was back again, and with him Dr. Perry, 
who was on his way to a formal dinner party. 
But the Doctor had an understanding with all 
who cared to entertain him that no dinner 
should ever wait one moment for his appear- 
ance, and that he should begin with whatever 
course was being served on his arrival. On no 
other conditions would he accept an invita- 
tion, since unexpected calls on his time made 
his coming and going as uncertain as a physi- 
cian’s. Hence he had followed the Boy with- 
out delay, glad to be of service even in this 
new and humble way. 


HOW HE TRIED FOR HIS OWN NAME 63 


The passing pedestrians seemed much in- 
terested in the odd group, and many were 
the glances bestowed on the trio — the some- 
what soiled newsboy, the eager, well-clad 
schoolboy, and the fine-looking man in im- 
maculate evening dress, half sitting on the 
hydrant to reduce his height more nearly to 
that of his companions. But the three were 
oblivious of the rest of the world. The Boy 
explained the situation briefly and Dr. Perry 
seconded his suggestion of choosing more 
names, adding, “What would you like for a 
first name?’’ 

“I d’n know.” 

Seeing his uncertainty, the Boy came to 
his relief. 

“Do you like anybody enough to want his 
name?” 

“No-o,” hesitatingly. 

“Well, how would you like David? The 
fellow that killed the giant, you know.” 

Smith did not know, but it sounded at- 
tractive, so he said, “All right.” 

“Don’t let the fellows spoil it. Make them 
say the whole name every time. Do you want 
a middle name too?” 

Yes, Smith would like a middle name, and 


64 THE BOY WHO LOST HIS NAME 


the two boys pondered while the minister 
watched. 

“What’s your name?” Smith suddenly asked 
the Boy. 

“I haven’t got any just now,” replied the 
Boy, and he explained with rising color. “But 
my father’s name is Richard Ellison Gardner, 
and that’ll be mine when I get it back again.” 

“Then I want Gardner for my middle name,” 
asserted Smith. “I think David Gardner 
Smith sounds great.” 

“I’ll ask father if he’s willing,” said the 
Boy. “He’s pretty careful of his name, you 
know.” 

“I won’t hurt it none; I ain’t no slouch,” 
said Smith, resentfully. 

“You’ll understand when you see Mr. Gard- 
ner,” interposed Dr. Perry. “Do you want to 
be baptized and make sure of your name in 
that way?” 

“How do you do it?” 

Dr. Perry explained in detail. 

“Don’t be in a hurry about it,” he said. 
“A name is an important matter. Think it 
over carefully, and I’ll be here again Monday 
afternoon to learn what you decide.” 

At dinner time the Boy asked his father’s 


HOW HE TRIED FOR HIS OWN NAME 65 


consent to Smith’s use of his name, and was 
told that the matter would receive considera- 
tion. Then he related his experience with 
Mr. Dutton, and listened longingly, hopefully 
for his name, but a quiet “I am glad you have 
made that matter right. Boy,” was all he 
heard. 

After he was in bed his keen disappointment 
kept him awake thinking, thinking. What 
did his father want or expect? He had gone 
down into the mud. It wasn’t easy or pleas- 
ant, but he had gone — and had cleaned up 
his name all right. It wasn’t fair to keep 
him out of his own so long — what more could 
his father ask any way? He was sure his 
name must be a little shiny after what Dot 
had said. If his father wanted it any shinier, 
he’d better rub it up himself; he wouldn’t 
try any more if he never got it back — never? 
He squirmed uneasily and tossed restlessly. 

“That isn’t so. I’d do most anything to get 
it back again, truly. If I just knew what — 
if father’d only tell me.” 

He almost broke down then, his heart was 
so full of longing, and the remembrance of 
his father’s face that Sunday morning took 
away the last vestige of resentment. 


66 THE BOY WHO LOST HIS NAME 


“I’ll just have to keep on trying till I find 
the right thing, I guess,” he decided finally, 
and he fell asleep to search dreamland through 
for a lost, undiscoverable jewel. 

Monday afternoon during a pause in his 
paper-selling Smith felt a hand on his shoulder 
and looking up quickly found Dr. Perry smiling 
at him. 

“Thought I’d come around early and see 
if you could take supper with me — can you 
spare the time.^” 

“Sure I will. Where’ll it be.^” 

“Arden Chambers, at half-past six.” 

Following the clear directions. Smith arrived 
promptly. Dr. Perry usually dined out, but 
to-night he had a simple but abundant supper 
sent in to his bachelor suite, and the two had 
a feast seasoned with much merriment during 
which he studied the boy. Then they settled 
down to discuss the name proposition, and 
after Smith had said that he would rather 
be baptized and feel sure that no one could 
take away or spoil his name, it was easy to 
reach the real issues of life — God’s purpose 
for every one and his right to every one’s 
love and service. 

It was new to Smith, but he grasped the 


HOW HE TRIED FOR HIS OWN NAME 67 


truth quickly, and then there was a long 
pause. 

Presently he rose and stood before the 
minister with his hand on the other’s knee. 
Dr. Perry laid his own hand over it. 

“Does God truly want me?^^ 

Dr. Perry met the earnest questioning gaze 
with one equally straightforward. 

“Yes.” 

“Then — he can have me; ’n’ when I’m bap- 
tized it’ll mean that. Did I ought to join a 
church too.'^” 

“It would be much better.” 

“But — p’r’aps folks wouldn’t like — ” 

“O no! they would be glad to have you.” 

“All right — I’ll do it. You’ll tell me and 
help me, won’t you, 'please f 

It was a wistful, pleading tone, for the man’s 
face wore such an absent look that the boy 
suddenly felt almost forsaken. But in an 
instant Dr. Perry was on his knees holding 
the boy close in his arms and praying for 
them both in a way so straightforward, earnest, 
and trustful that then and there Smith learned 
how to do it for himself. 

The following Sunday was the time set for 
the baptism, and at four o’clock Smith and Dr. 


68 THE BOY WHO LOST HIS NAME 


Perry found Mr. and Mrs. Gardner and the 
Boy awaiting them in the church. 

As they stood beside the font the sun 
streamed in through the beautiful stained- 
glass windows, throwing wonderful colors on 
the carved woodwork around the chancel 
and over the group reverently listening to the 
service. Just as Dr. Perry laid his hand on 
Smith’s bowed head a beam of golden light 
fell over the kneeling figure as if it were a 
visible blessing. The lad felt it, and when he 
rose an answering glow from within shone in 
his face. It was a happening which the two 
boys never forgot. 

David and Dr. Perry took supper with the 
Gardners most happily, and then the former 
made his way to the new home arranged for 
him by the thoughtfulness of his recently 
acquired friends. The idea originated with the 
Boy, who had one day said to Dr. Perry, “Don’t 
you think David would find it easier to — to — 
live up to his name if he had a better place 
to stay in?” 

“Have you thought of one?” Dr. Perry 
seldom wasted much time or talk over matters. 

The Boy flushed a bit — ^it seemed so bold 
to be proposing plans to the minister. 


HOW HE TRIED FOR HIS OWN NAME 69 


“I thought p’r’aps he’d like to be at Lem’s,” 
he suggested, bashfully. “Mrs. Aiken might 
be glad to have him help her some, and I 
guess Lem wouldn’t mind having some one to 
talk with more — and they’d be pretty good 
to him, wouldn’t they?” 

“Great scheme, my lad. Suppose you fix 
it up with David and I’ll see Mrs. Aiken about 
terms.” 

Mrs. Aiken and her crippled son Lemuel 
had approved the idea, and after he had seen 
them David was only too glad to be admitted 
on any terms. So the homeless lad found a 
welcome with them and was soon counted a 
member of the family. 

That Sunday evening the Boy lingered a 
little over his “Good night.” The events of 
the day made him homesick for the sound of 
his name, and he had hoped that his part 
in the procuring of David’s might help to re- 
store his own. But nothing happened. 

“Another flunk,” he said to himself as he 
slowly made ready for bed. He wondered 
what the reason could be, and found it hard 
not to envy the newsboy his new possession. 


CHAPTER IX 


HOW HE TRIED A THIRD TIME 

O NE afternoon the Boy, feeling rather at 
odds with the world in general and 
studying in particular, went home from an 
exasperating season of ball practice past David’s 
usual stand. But business was so good for 
the newsboy that he was obliged to wait 
some minutes before they could do more than 
nod to one another. When at last there was 
a lull David hurried over to him. 

“Ain’t it queer how you see things if it’s 
happened to you?” he exclaimed rather unin- 
telligibly as he arrived. “See here,” and he 
fished out of his pocket a folded newspaper 
clipping. “Lem saw it and read it to me 
’cause it made him think of me some.” 

The Boy read it carelessly. Somehow the 
subject of names bored him just then. 

“’Tis some like you, isn’t it?” he said, list- 
lessly. “How’s Lem?” 

David had been visibly disappointed at the 
Boy’s indifference and had put the clipping 

70 


HOW HE TRIED A THIRD TIME 71 


back hastily, but he brightened up again as 
he responded, “Fine — he’s sitting up to-day.” 

“What!” The Boy stared. 

David slipped away to sell several papers 
but was quickly back again. 

“Lem’s sitting up,” he repeated. “I made 
him awful huffy one day ’cause I said he 
didn’t ought to stay in bed an’ make his 
mother wait on him so when he could get up 
if he had a mind to an’ help her some — an’ 
he said some mean things, they were — but I 
didn’t blame him when he showed me what 
was the matter; no feet an’ not much legs 
either. But in the night — ^he doesn’t sleep 
much, I guess — ^he tried what he could do, 
an’ it was more’n he thought, an’ so this 
momin’ I helped him, an’ he got into the big 
rocker an’ we hauled him to the winder sos’t 
he could see out. Maybe he’ll dress up some 
to-morrer, ’n’ I guess he’ll feel better so. He 
took back what he said to me too.” David 
spoke meditatively, then suddenly darted away 
again bent on sales. 

After a few moments more of converse the 
Boy strolled homeward idly, recalling what 
David had said about Lem, when suddenly 
the name in the clipping stood out clearly 


72 THE BOY WHO LOST HIS NAME 


before his mental vision. “Carl Nelson” and 
“the rest of his name” — could it be Mr. Nisson? 
The names were not unlike in sound. And 
what was it he had said to Mr. Allen about 
not knowing his other name that day in the 
oflSce when the Boy had gone back for his 
forgotten books? 

“I say, David, let me see that clipping 
again, won’t you?” 

David watched him closely as he reread it. 

“Let me take it till to-morrow if I bring it 
back then?” 

“What fer?” asked David, in surprise. 

“P’r’aps I know the man they want.” 

“You’re stuffin’ me!” 

“’Course it may not be so, but I’d like to 
try and see.” 

“You better keep it, or give it to the feller, 
if that’s what you want it fer.” 

“All right — thanks. I’ll let you know about 
it when I find out. Do you know what paper 
it was in?” 

David thought hard. “Lem said it was in 
a paper his mother got — she’d know — shall I 
ask her?” 

“Sure, and let me know quick,” and he 
hastened homeward wondering if Nitsie had 


HOW HE TRIED A THIRD TIME 73 


seen it, and what he would say when he gave 
it to him. Suppose, though, it should prove 
not to mean him? That would be a sad dis- 
appointment. After some consideration he de- 
cided to write himself to the address given. 

When he essayed the task it proved a more 
difficult undertaking than he had expected. 
However, a deal of cogitation and more wrig- 
gling eased the struggle, and he finally achieved 
a note which, though it did not satisfy his 
desires, would serve. 

At the other end of its trip the note met 
similar perplexity. 

“What on earth!” exclaimed the recipient, 
and having no time to spend over it just then 
he stood it up against some pigeon-holes while 
he finished his mail, dictated letters, heard 
reports, and gave directions. Now and then 
he glanced at it and shook his head. 

During a lull he leaned back in his chair 
and gazed at it. 

To M. G. R.— 

Mr. Carl Nisson, gym teacher at Melton, wants to find the 
rest of his name. He calls 

Yours truly. 

Scrubber. 


“Scrubber! What a name! But it’s that 


74 THE BOY WHO LOST HIS NAME 


plain as day; can’t be anything else; teacher 
at Melton — where under the sun is that?” 

He picked up the envelope. “Hm — mailed 
at Renfrew — hm — Melton School possibly then 

but Scrubber — Scrub-ber, that’s no name 

at all — unless, hm — might be a nickname, I 
suppose — O ho! why, yes, so it might — and — 
why, sure enough, Renfrew is the place. I’ll 
bet it’s that Gardner boy, couldn’t sign his 
own name, of course — believe I’ll risk it! And 
bless me, if that isn’t the High School where 
Dutton teaches — I am a bonehead for sure.” 

So it came about that the Boy received a 
reply very promptly in Mr. Miller’s own hand 
— for the advertisement that gentleman had 
reversed his initials — thanking him for the in- 
formation and stating that he would follow up 
the clue. 

About a week later, as the Boy was picking 
up his shoes after the ball practice, he received 
such a “swat” on the exposed region that 
involuntarily he straightened up and found 
himself a prisoner in Mr. Nisson’s arms. 

“I’ll fix you for playing me such a trick,” 
he heard, but the face belied the words, for it 
was radiant with a new happiness. Hastily the 
tale was told. Mr. Miller had written asking 


HOW HE TRIED A THIRD TIME 75 


for an interview, and the upshot thereof was 
that Mr. Nisson had found the rest of his 
name — Carl Neslin Porter it was accurately — 
and with it a dear beautiful grandmother who 
had taken him to her heart at once. She was 
the widow of Mr. Miller’s father’s best friend, 
and Mr. Miller had promised to be a sort of 
father to him, so that for the “gym teacher 
at Melton” loneliness was a thing of the past. 

On reaching home the Boy found confirma- 
tion of the story in a note from Mr. Miller, 
wherein that gentleman thanked him for his 
part in the matter, stated that Mrs. Porter 
would be a real fairy grandmother, as she was 
very wealthy and wished to give her newly 
found grandson better education and train- 
ing in whatever line he might choose, and 
asked in conclusion, “Have you got your name 
back yet?” 

At dinner the Boy related the story and read 
the note. At its close he asked, “Have I got 
it back, father? Can’t I have it now?” 

“I am glad you helped Mr. Nisson — Mr. 
Porter, I should say — to his, but you haven’t 
earned your own yet.” 

It was a sadly disappointed youth who 
sought his bed later and lay tossing about 


76 THE BOY WHO LOST HIS NAME 


restlessly as he rebelliously wondered why he 
should still remain nameless. What could his 
father want? Perfection probably. If he did, 
he’d better look elsewhere; he wouldn’t go in 
for that — no, sir! But what could it be? If 
only he knew, he — could t-r-y — ^for it. At 
last, with a sigh eloquent of his longing and 
determination to regain his lost treasure at 
any cost, he rolled over once more and fell 
asleep. 


CHAPTER X 


HOW HE CHANGED HIS PLAN 

O NE waini evening as Mr. Gardner was 
lying in the sailor’s hammock in the 
back veranda he called to the Boy as the latter 
came up from the garden. 

‘‘Do you know a lad named Parker? At 
school?” 

The Boy shook his head slowly. “I guess 
not.” 

“He’s what you call a Trepper.’ ” 

“I don’t remember anybody by that name.” 
“That’s strange. A Mr. Parker spoke to 
me on the car to-night and said he would like 
to see you, but as he couldn’t just now he 
asked me to thank you for helping his boy to 
behave better and for saving him from a bad 
fall at the cost of a good shake-up yourself.” 

At that reference light dawned and the Boy 
grinned cheerfully. 

“O! I guess you mean Pin.” 

“Pin?” 

“Yes. We call him Pin because his head’s 

77 


78 THE BOY WHO LOST HIS NAME 


the biggest part of him and most of the things 
he says piick so.” 

“Sit down and tell me about it.” 

“There’s nothing much to tell,” said the 
Boy, drawing up a chair. “He’s bothered me 
quite a lot off and on, and one day last week 
he was pretty nasty, called me ‘Nothing,’ 
‘O — O,’ ‘Naught-y’ and such things, and tried 
to walk through me, saying, ‘Nobody’s here — 
what’s the matter?’ I was mad, but I tried 
to play with him and the others — guess I 
didn’t do it very pleasantly, though. Next 
morning at recess I got out early and saw him 
up on the wall where the broken glass is; I 
can’t think how he got there; and he called to 
me to get him down quick. He looked kind 
of pale and scared, so I told him to jump and 
I’d catch him. He jumped at me instead of 
straight down, so he sort of knocked the wind 
out of me, and we both tumbled over back. 
We might have got hurt only it was softer 
ground right there. When he got up and 
found he was all right he just said, ‘No thanks 
to Nobody,’ and scooted. ’Course he had to 
or he’d be late — their recess comes before ours. 
But after school while I was waiting for Archer, 
I felt a pull on my jacket. I was some cross 


HOW HE CHANGED HIS PLAN 79 


when I saw him, but he surprised me he looked 
so different, and he said kind of bashfully, 
‘Nobody’s gone, but Somebody’s here, ’nd 
Somebody’s great,’ and ran away quick.” 

“Why hadn’t you told me?” 

The Boy’s eyes turned from gazing into the 
back of the garden to look at his father. 

“I thought it might seem like a bid for my 
name. I tried to get it back by doing special 
things first, but I’m through with that now.” 

He paused, then added, more slowly: “I 
think I begin to understand better what you 
meant, and that the way to get it back is to 
plug away at being decent myself — getting to 
be a gentleman if I can. Isn’t that so?” 

Just at that moment a small py jama-clad 
figure appeared at the screen door calling, 
“Brother, I couldn’t get to sleep at all in my 
bed, I just got hotter and hotter, and mother 
said I could come out here if I wouldn’t talk, 
and you’d look after me. Will you?” 

“All right, come on; better bring the afghan 
along,” responded the Boy, trying not to show 
his disappointment at receiving no reply to his 
eager question. Mr. Gardner had risen and 
followed the flying little feet into the house. 

In a moment Leonard was back again. He 


80 THE BOY WHO LOST HIS NAME 


climbed into the hammock and lay down, and 
the Boy said “Good night” and began walking 
up and down the veranda. Presently a weary 
sigh drew his attention, and he looked at the 
little fellow, who lay rigid, hands clenched and 
face all puckered, in his effort to get to sleep. 

“Brother” was amused, then he looked bored; 
but a few moments later a pleasanter expres- 
sion appeared. 

“Want me to tell you a story, Len?” 

There was a quick vigorous nod in response. 

“Sit up a minute — there — now lie so you can 
look at me,” and Leonard lay down in a more 
restful attitude on the readjusted pillows, while 
his brother resumed his earlier seat and be- 
gan slowly, 

“Once on a time there was a king who had 
three children — one boy about eleven, another 
six and a little baby girl about three. The 
second prince and the princess were peaches, 
but the first one was a holy terror. His folks 
did all sorts of things to try to make him be- 
have, ’cause they were afraid when he got 
to be king he’d be so bad the people couldn’t 
stand him. But he didn’t mind anybody or 
anything; he just laughed when he had to go 
without his supper or be shut in a dark room. 


HOW HE CHANGED HIS PLAN 81 


or even after a licking, and it seemed as if it only 
made him think of worse things to do, so every- 
body was discouraged, the king specially. 

“But there was one man who didn’t seem 
to feel so sad about Prince Naughty — the 
Prince had lots of names, you know, eight or 
ten, but nobody said anything but Prince 
Naughty after he got so bad. And one day 
this Duke took Prince Naughty to his house 
and read him a story, about one of the old 
Greeks. The Prince liked it so well that he 
wanted another, but the Duke said he couldn’t 
read any more then, but if the Prince could 
tell him the whole of the story next day he’d 
read him another. 

“So the Prince went home and the rest of 
that day he was so busy trying to remember 
all the story that he forgot to be bad and did 
just what he was told. 

“Next day he told the Duke what he re- 
membered, but he left out a good deal, so the 
Duke read the same story again and promised 
him a new one as soon as he could tell the first 
one straight. 

“Well, next time he got it all in, so he heard 
the new story, and they went on like that for 
a week or so. By that time the Prince was so 


82 THE BOY WHO LOST HIS NAME 


interested in those old fellows that he wanted 
the book for keeps. The Duke said all right, 
he could have it as soon as he could read a 
whole page without making a mistake and 
could show all the places on the map. 

“My! how Prince Naughty hustled after 
that! His tutor couldn’t get him along fast 
enough. Before that nobody could make him 
study a thing, but now he was at it all the 
time — reading, and geography, and arithmetic, 
so he’d know about numbers and money 
better, and other things too. And pretty soon 
he’d read that book clear thi’ough, and then 
some others. And all the time he was be- 
having so fine that one day the Duke said 
he ought to have a new name, and what do 
you think they called him? Prince Mindwell! 
and the Prince — ” seeing that the little fel- 
low’s eyes were drooping gradually, the Boy 
spoke more and more slowly: “liked his — new — 
name — so — well — that — he — kept — on — 
behaving — right — till — it — got — to — be 
— easy — and — everybody — loved — him.” 

In the gathering twilight the Boy sat and 
listened to Leonard’s regular, peaceful breath- 
ing and then went on some thought excursions 
till his own bedtime arrived. 


HOW HE CHANGED HIS PLAN 83 


Next morning when he was about half-way 
to school he spied Pin coming to meet him. 
As soon as he was within hailing distance Pin 
called out, “Did your father tell you what 
my father said?” 

“Sure, but there wasn’t any call to say any- 
thing.” 

There was a bit of a pause, then Pin dashed 
in again as they walked on together. 

“I used not to like father a bit. He always 
called me Kid, an’ I hate ‘Kid,’ so I called him 
Goatee — he has to wear some kind of one 
’cause his chin isn’t much good — and that 
made him cross, an’ — an’ — we were down on 
each other mostly. But when I told him how 
you kept me from getting hurt bad, he was 
sort of — of staggered for a minute as if he’d 
got a new idea, an’ then he said, ‘Come here, 
Alan.’ I was some s’prised, but nothing to 
when he picked me up an’ held me tight in 
his lap a while. We had a great old talk, 
an’ I found out that he truly cared ’bout me 
an’ just teased me to keep me from being 
sissy. But he isn’t going to do it that way 
any more — he’s going to call me Alan. You 
don’t know how big an’ proud it makes me 
feel.” 


84 THE BOY WHO LOST HIS NAME 


Couldn’t the Boy guess? Wouldn’t he feel 
so and more if ever he heard his own name 
again? He looked enviously at Pin, whose 
spindling little figure seemed really to grow 
more sturdy as he talked. 

“An’ I’m to call him father unless I find 
something he likes better. He smiles real 
jolly when I say ‘Father’ too.” 

“What’s your name, did you say?” 

“Alan Roycroft Parker.” 

“That’s a fine one,” and the Boy almost 
sighed. 

“Would you mind calling me Roy? I’d 
like to use it all, you know, and if father calls 
me Alan and the teachers Parker and you Roy 
it’ll take most all of it.” 

“Great head you have. Pin!” He laughed 
at his slip, then held out his hand correcting 
his remark to “You’re all right, Roy!” as they 
parted at the school steps. 

The day had been a trying one, and the Boy 
was in no humor for study that night when he 
sat down at the table and picked up his books. 
Geometry came the first period, so he attended 
to that first. Then he paused, but finally 
picked up the hated Caesar. For some time he 


HOW HE CHANGED HIS PLAN 85 


wrestled quietly with the intricacies of indirect 
discourse; then he began to shuffle his feet 
and twist his legs about the chair legs. After 
a time, rising far enough from his seat to have 
space for movement, he flung the book with 
all his might against the opposite wall, almost 
shouting, “Darn you, darn you, I say!” 

After a moment Mr. Gardner’s quiet voice 
broke the silence. 

“Go to your room. Boy,” and the Boy went 
as if he really were the bullet he had been 
nicknamed. 

Perhaps three minutes later he reappeared at 
the threshold, reluctantly saying, “Did you 
mean to punish me by sending me off, father? 
’Cause” — awkwardly but honestly he said it, 
and his voice and manner left no slightest 
doubt of his truthfulness — “it’s no punishment 
at all; I’d be glad to go to bed right now. 
The real thing would be to — to make me 
study that — Caesar some more.” 

“Very well, finish your lesson.” 

Slowly the Boy reentered the room and 
circled around toward the place where the 
book lay, glaring at it with hostile countenance. 
All at once he began humming a lively tune 
and dancing the sailor’s hornpipe which Mr. 


86 THE BOY WHO LOST HIS NAME 


Porter was teaching a group of boys at the 
gym. During one of its forward passes he 
picked up the book, pressing it to his heart 
till he reached his seat. 

“Why this gayety?” asked Mr. Gardner, 
whose eyes were twinkling with amusement at 
his son’s sudden transformation. 

“I was trying whether there was anything 
in that saying, ‘Music has charms,’ you know, 
for I’m as savage inside as he was out,” re- 
sponded the son, grimly, slamming the book 
down hard and giving it a whack with his 
fist as he dropped into the chair once more. 

It was almost ten when he finished, and both 
parents had retired, so he hastily tumbled into 
bed; but sleep was so slow in coming that he 
had plenty of time for the meditation he had 
massed earlier. 

“Guess it didn’t help about my name much. 
I don’t care, hateful old thing — but I do care 
though. Wonder if I’ll ever get it back. What 
do you s’pose those other Richards would do? 
Fight it out, probably. I guess I’ll have to, 
too. I’ll tell father — ” 

“Your story the other evening made quite 
an impression on Leonard,” said Mr. Gardner 


HOW HE CHANGED HIS PLAN 87 


as his older son was sitting down to his books 
the next evening. “He has tried to be Prince 
Mindwell ever since.” 

“He’s a peach any way,” responded the Boy. 
“But I never thought of his doing that. I 
was telling it more to myself than to him. 
I — I — sometimes I hate studying so — I get mad 
like I did last night, and then I get ashamed 
and sorry. I’d tell old Caesar so if I could get 
at him,” and he smiled ruefully at his father 
who was standing beside the table. 

“No gentleman ever gives way to his tem- 
per like that,” said Mr. Gardner quietly, but 
so clearly that the words almost cut. 

The Boy flushed and made an angry move, 
then shut his teeth hard and compelled him- 
self to be slow and quiet. He handled his 
books gently and worked hard on his lessons 
till his curfew rang. Then with a deep sigh 
of relief he piled up papers and volumes and 
started for his room. 

“Are you awful ’shamed of your bad boy, 
mother?” he whispered as he kissed her good 
night. 

“I’ve been wishing I could help my Laddie 
better,” she whispered back, and the yearning 
love in her eyes and voice made him respond 


88 THE BOY WHO LOST HIS NAME 


hastily, “You’re a peach for bracing a fellow 
up, little mother, didn’t you know it?” 

“Good night, daddy,” was his farewell to 
his father as he passed the couch. 

“Sit down here a minute,” said Mr. Gardner, 
making room for him at his side. “What is 
it you dislike so about studying?” 

“The whole blooming show,” was the ex- 
plosive reply. 

“Are all the subjects distasteful?” 

“No, geometry’s fair.” 

“Why?” 

“O — it’s sort of like a puzzle, to see what 
you can get and how.” 

“How do you suppose the first man worked 
it out?” 

“I never thought about that. I’ll bet he 
had a great time finding out things and check- 
ing them to be sure he was right.” 

“What is your history about?” 

“It’s just a mess of dates and names of men 
and battles and laws,” impatiently. 

“What did the men do?” 

“Scrapped, or tried to boss the ranch, or — ” 

“Then they were fighters of various sorts, 
with different aims?” 

“I s’pose so,” in a more thoughtful tone. 


HOW HE CHANGED HIS PLAN 89 


“What did they fight for?” 

“I guess I’ll have to study some and find 
out,” said the Boy, interested now, and amused 
at the idea. 

“What about Csesar.^^” 

“He was an old beast, but he was a fighter, 
wasn’t he.^ P’r’aps he wasn’t such a bad — 
patriot after all.” 

“Why?” 

The Boy thought a minute. “He was awful 
mean and cruel to the people he conquered, 
but he crushed the life out of them so they’d 
always have to belong to Rome and help make 
his country greater.” 

“Would it help any to imagine yourself the 
person about whom you are studying and to 
think what you would have done in his place?” 

“It sure would — I’ll try it right off.” 

He started for his room again pausing only 
long enough to add, “It’s good of you to — 
bother with me so, daddy.” 


CHAPTER XI 


HOW HE GOT SOME HELP 

O N the following Sunday Dr. Perry came 
to the Boy’s aid. Something about the 
service stirred his spirit and he felt a yearn- 
ing which he could not define, but as soon as 
he heard the text he understood it. 

“Thou shalt call his name — ” read Dr. Perry 
and paused. Some sort of tag or label for each 
person was a need as soon as men could talk. 
It would be diflScult to imagine society exist- 
ing without means of distinguishing the indi- 
viduals. This label was termed a name. At 
first these labels were probably derived from 
some peculiarity of the person which marked 
him as different from his fellows; then rela- 
tionship made its contribution, and in course 
of time the present complicated nomenclature 
was evolved. 

Nicknames seemed to be an expression of 
the desire to have the name a better fit than 
the appellation which came to the person by 
inheritance or accident, and often were most 

90 


HOW HE GOT SOME HELP 


91 


appropriate, sometimes being adopted for life 
by the recipient. 

After a while the name became more than a 
label; it meant the person and his character, 
so that some names stood for ability, others 
for beauty, some for honor, and others again 
for meanness, inability, cruelty, etc. And the 
people who were by birth connected with any 
of these names could choose to live down to 
the low ones or to lift some of the disgraced 
ones up and make them respected; while those 
who inherited honored names could live up 
to them if they wished. Such an inheritance 
was above valuation, a treasure beyond price. 

At that point the Boy could not forbear 
giving a quick glance at his father, but Mr. 
Gardner was an absorbed listener, so the Boy 
turned back to the preacher.' 

“Thou shalt call his name,” read Dr. Perry 
again, “Jesus, for he shall save his people 
from their sins.” 

“That was a name which demanded much 
from its bearer,” said Dr. Perry, and he rapidly 
but most clearly sketched the course of that 
life so dear to us all — as child and growing 
boy trustful and obedient; as youth and young 
man ever true to its highest, best impulses. 


92 THE BOY WHO LOST HIS NAME 


looking always upward for inspiration and 
guidance; as full-grown man living up to all 
that the name given him at birth meant, in 
small things as well as the greatest, and, 
strengthened by his inexpressible love for his 
heavenly Father and the obedience which had 
become his beautiful habit, ready at any mo- 
ment to meet all its demands to the uttermost. 
That was indeed a life true to the high pur- 
pose expressed in its name. No wonder that 
to its bearer should finally be given a name 
above every name, that at the name of Jesus 
every knee should bow. 

Here was given our example, our inspira- 
tion for the highest living, and its reward 
was sure — in this world the comfort of gain- 
ing the best out of life, and in the world to 
come the new name which the Father who had 
put us here and tested our fidelity and loyalty 
had promised to those who overcame. 

In the multitude of sympathetic faces Dr. 
Perry, as he closed, saw most distinctly the 
glowing countenances of two lads and held 
them in his thought as he offered a fervent 
petition that none of those present should by 
carelessness, negligence, or willfulness forfeit 
their claim to that precious new name. 


HOW HE GOT SOME HELP 


93 


The closing hymn, “The Son of God Goes 
Forth to War,’' contained a new meaning for 
both David and the Boy. “The steep ascent 
to heaven” might be “through peril, toil, and 
pain,” but the reward was worth all it cost, 
and each resolved to win it. 

After dinner, which Leonard and Ruth al- 
ways shared on Sunday, the Boy took them 
for a walk in the park while Mrs. Gardner 
rested. As she was not down on their return, 
he found Ruth’s best doll and its wardrobe 
and established her on the couch. Then he 
gave Leonard his dissected map of Palestine, 
and picking up a book, ensconced himself in 
the big morris chair. 

For a few moments all was quiet. 

“Brother, is your name nicked?” suddenly 
asked Leonard, desisting from his fruitless 
attempts to locate the tribe of Dan in the 
Dead Sea. 

“What?” 

“Dr. Perry said lots of folks had nicked 
names,” responded Leonard on the defensive. 
“Is yoiu’s nicked?” 

“I guess not — I hope not,” answered the 
Boy without the least inclination to laugh at 
the thought. What if — 


94 THE BOY WHO LOST HIS NAME 


“Dr. Perry said nicknames,*" he continued. 
“That’s a name different from your own name 
— same as if I called you Poll-len, or Leanhard, 
or Poodle—” 

“Have you got any nickednames?” inter- 
rupted Leonard. 

“Heaps. All the folks at school have given 
me some.” 

“What?” 

“O — ^Blank, and Naught and Bullet and 
Scrubber — ” 

At the last named Leonard broke into a 
merry laugh, and Mrs. Gardner, who entered 
the room at the moment, gave the Boy a quick, 
sympathetic glance. 

“I don’t mind — he never hurts me,” said 
the Boy answering the look. And dropping 
on the floor beside the still laughing little 
fellow, he tumbled him over, asking, “Want 
me to scrub you, do you?” 

Thereupon ensued a mild roughhouse which 
delighted the youngster’s heart and left him 
breathless but happy. 

The Boy soon quitted the room, for Mrs. 
Gardner taught the two younger children 
hymns and verses Sunday afternoons, and go- 
ing upstairs he dropped down on the couch 


HOW HE GOT SOME HELP 


95 


in his chamber. There he reviewed the sermon 
whose message he loved and never forgot. 
Then for the second time in his life, under 
the urging of a compelling need, he slipped to 
his knees beside the couch. 

In the evening, as the two were awaiting 
Mrs. Gardner’s return to the living room, 
Mr. Gardner asked the Boy, “Why did you 
look at me during the sermon this morning.?^” 

“I didn’t know you saw me,” replied the 
Boy, surprised. “I couldn’t help it, I was so 
glad we — you’ve got such a name, and so 
proud of the way you’ve honored it.” He came 
nearer in his earnestness and his shining eyes 
looked deep into his father’s. ‘T just love 
our name, daddy, and some day — when you 
think I can be trusted with it — I’m going to 
prove it. If it’s in me to do it, I’m going to 
honor it too.” 

Mr. Gardner made no audible response, but 
the peace of a great gladness filled his heart. 
He put his arm around the Boy, and together 
they paced the room till Mrs. Gardner arrived. 


CHAPTER XII 


HOW HE WON A SECOND NEW NAME 

M eantime the bail practice went on 
famously. The “scrub” was literally 
“licking” the school team into fine form, 
largely through the Boy’s eflSciency, for if 
there was one thing the Boy could do it was 
play ball. 

On his eighth birthday some benevolent 
friend had taken him to a professional ball 
game, and the youngster had at once de- 
veloped into a “fan” of the most pronounced 
type. He played ball constantly, with his 
mates for the most part, with sympathetic 
elders occasionally, but, failing both, by him- 
self alone. Many a time had Mrs. Gardner 
wished for the opportunity to get good snap- 
shots as she watched from the window the 
lithe young figure, clad in the dearly loved 
“base-ball zoot,” impersonating in turn all the 
members of a nine, pitching, batting, catching, 
running, with unconscious grace, faithful imi- 
tation, and ever-increasing skill. He loved the 


HOW HE WON A SECOND NAME 97 


balls, and they loved him. They curved at 
his will, they soared at his pleasure, they flew 
to his bat, they sped to the outfield, they 
dropped into his hands and awaited his caress- 
ing touch — O yes! the Boy could play ball. 

He went to the School League games, and 
watched with a trainer’s keen eye, and the 
fellows who made errors had chances in the 
skirmishes with the “Scrub” to practice those 
very things and learn to make good. 

At first the name “Scrubber” had greatly 
annoyed the Boy, but as he thought it over 
its double appropriateness impressed him — he 
was a Scrub-er and he was scrubbing his name 
clean, and gradually he had become rather 
fond of the title. 

“What makes you care such a lot when you’re 
not on the team.^” said the captain one day, 
interrupting Scrubber’s eager congratulations 
and praises of the nine after a hard-won 
victory. 

“I’m not on the team I know, but I care a 
lot for the school and — and — ^for the team 
too, and I want you to land the League prize 
awfully — you’re going to all right too — you’re 
doing great work.” 

At length came the day of the last game, and 


98 THE BOY WHO LOST HIS NAME 


the two contestants were tied for first place, 
so that it would be a stiff fight. 

“But whatever happens, keep it clean ball,” 
were Nitsie’s last words as the call for the 
game was heard, and the team obeyed. Their 
rivals were apparently not so scrupulous, but 
their captain was sharp enough to perceive 
that they were losing ground in the public 
favor, and being a clear-headed youth, he 
realized that that would not help his team, so 
after the third inning he gave them some 
earnest words on the subject and matters 
went better. 

Scrubber was in awful suspense. He rooted 
valiantly on the slightest occasion, and often 
without any, in the hope of stimulating quick 
or successful action at a critical point, but he 
did want to yell when Hoky muffed the ball 
and the other fellow got to third base and the 
next minute to the home plate, quickly fol- 
lowed by the proud batter. He wished he 
could close his ears to the deafening cheer 
that arose upon that achievement, and then 
he wondered how Hoky would take it — yes, 
he was getting mad and that would be the 
end of his good playing. O! why didn’t the 
captain see it and cool him off? 


HOW HE WON A SECOND NAME 99 


But the best intentions in the world could 
not be carried out, for just then an excited 
player flung his bat wildly away instead of 
dropping it as he started for the base. It fell 
near the captain, who played catcher and had 
moved nearer the home plate to watch the 
ball’s course better. Accidentally he stepped 
on the bat and fell, wrenching a weak ankle 
so painfully that he fainted. He quickly re- 
gained consciousness in the shade behind the 
bleachers, whither he was carried, and, making 
light of it, he tried to stand. But he went 
white, and lay down again. 

“I’m out of it — get Scrubber quick.” 

Scrubber, watching with grave concern, came 
like a flash on receiving the summons. Nitsie 
had reached the group and was skillfully 
making the ankle more comfortable while he 
forbade the boy to move. 

“I say. Scrubber, you be captain, won’t you? 
You’ll win out, sure.” 

Scrubber gasped, then he clinched his hands 
behind him. He had to shake his head because 
he couldn’t find his voice. The other boys 
were silent. Bates looked ugly. 

“O go ahead!” pleaded the captain. “The 
team’ll play with you all right — we’ve just 


100 THE BOY WHO LOST HIS NAME 


got to win, and the others are two runs ahead 
now.” 

But Scrubber still shook his head — finally 
he found his lost voice. 

‘‘No, I won’t play” — he could see the relief 
on some of the boys’ faces — “but I might coach 
p’r’aps, if the fellows didn’t mind that.” 

“How’s that, boys.^ will you play up?” 

There was a moment’s hesitation, then 
“Sure,” “All right,” and other affirmative ex- 
pressions followed one another rapidly. 

The captain sank back relieved, while 
Scrubber speedily rearranged the players. 
“Bates for catcher, Hoky first base, Allie short- 
stop, and get Lemon for center field quick 
as you can.” 

The boys were astonished. How could he 
know that those were just the places each had 
coveted? Anyhow they would show — 

But Scrubber was giving them a very few 
signals, carefully, and exacting implicit and 
instant obedience thereto. 

“When you’re in it you can’t always see 
quick enough, so I’ll do the looking and you 
watch me to know what to do,” he explained, 
and the boys promised. 

Faithfully they kept their word. Scrubber 


HOW HE WON A SECOND NAME 101 


went to the coaching line and stood or walked 
easily, carelessly back and forth. Apparently 
he was a rather indifferent observer, but in 
reality not a move, not a signal escaped him. 
And the boys, following his directions, gained 
fresh confidence, played with new spirit and 
began to retrieve their fortunes. 

“Nitsie, get me up where I can see or I’ll 
die here this minute,” commanded the cap- 
tain, pounding the ground with his fists as a 
new burst of cheers broke out. 

So Nitsie got him up on his well foot and 
then pick-a-backed him to a seat on one side 
whence he watched with an interest that 
helped him endure the pain in his ankle and 
foot. How did the boys manage it? They 
were batting in wonderful style — even Slow- 
poke had hit a fly that got him to third and 
let Beany finish his run. 

The opening exercises at school on the Wed- 
nesday morning following the game were of 
unusual interest. At the close of the prayer 
Mr. Allen gave a signal and an earlier grad- 
uate df the school, Stafford, known to his fel- 
lows more intimately as “Stiff,” came to the 
platform. He unrolled the banner in his 


102 THE BOY WHO LOST HIS NAME 


hand, attached it to the pole handed him by 
Mr. Porter, and held it out for the boys to 
behold. How they cheered! Then while they 
got their breath, he related the story of the 
formation of the League by his own class, 
and the fight for ‘‘clean ball,” and congrat- 
ulated the school and the team on gaining 
possession of the first banner awarded. 

After the applause died down Mr. Allen 
rose and praised the work of the team, saying 
that while he enjoyed the banner as an evi- 
dence of their successful endeavor, he prized 
it far more because it stood for gentlemanly 
sport. 

The Boy’s cheeks had gained a deeper color 
as he listened to the master’s words, but the 
concluding remarks he lost, for Nitsie whis- 
pered to him that Mr. Allen wanted to see 
him before he left the platform. The Boy 
started up as the scholars began clapping, 
followed rather closely by Nitsie. 

As they came up the steps the school was 
rising for dismissal. Mr. Allen motioned the 
pupils to wait, then, turning, beckoned the 
Boy nearer. By some sleight of hand which 
the scholars watched with curious and knowing 
looks, Nitsie swiftly exchanged the Boy’s 


HOW HE WON A SECOND NAME 103 


jacket for a sweater, dark-blue with white 
letters on the front, and they would have 
cheered again but that Mr. Allen began to 
speak. 

“This fellow” — he put his hand on the 
Boy’s shoulder — “helped win the banner, but 
was not a member of the team and so can’t 
wear the M. However, we all, both scholars 
and teachers, want him to know that we 
appreciate his work, and since he cared so 
much for the school we have had its name put 
on his sweater and we are going to call him 
by that title — ^for the present.” 

Before the boys could respond, “Melton” 
was at the edge of the platform. 

“I say, fellows, have you forgotten — can you 
ever forget — that — dirty ball — and — ” 

His cheeks were flaming, his voice broken, 
and even the team was taken by surprise. 
Then Bates, yes, it was really the scornful, 
snubbing Bates who hastily and heartily replied, 

“Sure, long ago; wish you had been on the 
team, then we’d have wiped up the ground 
with the rest of the League.” 

This time the hall rang with cheers for 
“Melton,” and “Melton” and “Melton.” 

On his way home the Boy dropped in a 


104 THE BOY WHO LOST HIS NAME 


minute at the captain’s, for, of course, he 
would know all about it and want to see. 

“Here it is,” he said, awkwardly, as he 
tossed the sweater on the couch. “How’s your 
foot to-day?” 

“Bother the foot — it’s coming on O.K. 
Hold it up and let’s see,” and he handed back 
the sweater. 

The Boy spread it over his chest, silently — 
then, “It’s a — a big thing — to — ^for you all — 
to give—” 

“What’s the matter? Don’t you like it?” 
interrupted the captain. 

The Boy hastily gathered up his books, 

“’Course — I — I — ” and made a bolt for the 
door, leaving a much-bewildered foot-bound 
friend. 

After a quick lunch the Boy transferred his 
books from the hall chair to the living-room 
table, and grabbing the sweater tightly, bounded 
up the stairs to his room. He shut and locked 
the door, and standing with his back against 
it, he wound the sweater hard into a big ball 
and flung it with all his might toward the 
opposite wall. It hit, bounced down on the 
couch, untwisting as it fell, and lay with sleeves 
upraised as if in protest. 


HOW HE WON A SECOND NAME 105 


“Ding it!” panted the angry lad. “You 
beastly, wuzzy, soft old thing, I hate you! 
Ding it! Ding it! Ding your and he glared 
viciously at the “Melton” which was staring 
him out of countenance. 

“I could tear you to rags — to — to — tatters, 
every blooming stitch of you,” he muttered 
as he squeezed, twisted and wrung the unre- 
sisting garment. Then suddenly he hid his 
hot face in its folds, for the bitterness in his 
heart had forced two big 

His head came up again with a jerk. “Cry- 
baby.^ You bet. No!” and he dropped the 
sweater as if it scorched. 

“K you just had a plain lonesome M, how 
I’d love you,” he sighed, and dropped down 
on the couch beside it to kick his heels and 
fight another battle. The Boy was growing 
to be a stout warrior. 

It was a quiet son who met Mr. Gardner at 
the car later. He was cheerful but rather 
silent at dinner, and soon afterward he began 
studying. Examinations were very threaten- 
ing, and he had been appalled to find how 
little of the earlier work he knew except in 
“Math.” He wriggled and squirmed, and 
sighed and grunted, while Mr. Gardner watched 


106 THE BOY WHO LOST HIS NAME 


from the couch with a smile, now amused, now 
hopeful. 

At last it was bedtime and the Boy jumped 
up with a sigh of relief. 

“Mr. Allen wanted me to show you some- 
thing, father,” he said reluctantly as he came 
to the couch. 

Mr. Gardner put out his hand. “Well?” 

“It’s upstairs,” but he made no move to go. 

“Anything the matter with your feet?” 

“N— o— no, sir.” 

“Why keep me waiting then?” 

When he came down again Mr. Gardner was 
sitting by the table. He looked inquiringly at 
the sweater which the Boy dropped in his lap. 

“Put it on.” 

Silently the Boy struggled into it, then 
shuffled his feet and gazed at the floor sheep- 
ishly. 

“It fits very well,” commented Mr. Gardner. 

There was a brief pause. 

“Can I take it off now? It’s pretty warm.” 

“Of course. Why is it ‘Melton’ and not the 
usual M?” 

The Boy explained. 

“And so you don’t like it,” said his father. 

“I hate it,” exploded the Boy — he could not 


HOW HE WON A SECOND NAME 107 


help it — “I just hate it — now, but” — with a 
desperate earnestness — “I’m going to like it, 
daddy, truly, some day.” 

Mjp. Gardner took it from him, smoothed 
it out, traced the letters, folded it gently and 
looked up. 

“I like it. Boy; like it now,” he said. 

The Boy’s lips wanted to quiver but he 
held them steady. 

“That’ll help no end, daddy,” he whispered 
as he picked up the garment and fled. 


CHAPTER XIII 

HOW HIS OWN NAME CAME BACK 

T he last day of examinations had arrived, 
and at the opening exercises Mr. Allen 
had stated that it was also the last school 
session. Reports and papers would be sent 
by mail, and he wished the boys a happy vaca- 
tion — “happier because you will have passed 
your examinations with honor,” he had said, 
and the boys had laughed as they scattered 
to write the last tests. 

The Boy had written tw^o, and after a brief 
intermission returned to his own classroom. 
There had been a few conflicts in the examina- 
tion hours set, and his was mathematics. Mr. 
Dutton was in charge of all the “left-overs,” 
and distributed paper and questions as the 
individuals required. 

The Boy heaved a deep, deep sigh. Bull’s 
conflict papers were not very merciful; the 
regulars were bad enough. The very first 
proposition staggered him, and he scowled 
and frowned and wriggled considerably till it 
occurred to him to draw the necessary figure. 
108 


HOW HIS OWN NAME CAME BACK 109 


As he added some letters it began to look 
familiar, and suddenly he recognized a van- 
quished foe. He wrote rapidly until the proof 
was complete. The second question also was 
a new form of a previous acquaintance, and 
with better courage the lad worked busily on 
till he reached the last, an “original,” and was 
balked. He cudgeled his brains to no avail. 

“Melton!” 

“Yes, sir.” 

He rose and looked around in surprise — the 
room was empty save for Dot and himself. 

“I am obliged to leave for a teachers’ meet- 
ing at once. Have you finished?” 

“All but the last, sir,” scowling down at the 
paper. 

“And you are entitled to fifteen minutes 
more. Take them and bring your work to 
the oflice at one-twenty.” 

“Yes, sir. Will some one else come in here?” 

“No one.” 

“But I might cheat here alone, sir.” 

Dot smiled. “I don’t see how you could 
really without a book or paper or person to 
help you, even if you wanted to, which I don’t 
believe you do.” 

He closed the door behind him and Melton 


110 THE BOY WHO LOST HIS NAME 


sat down again with a warm, happy feeling 
in his heart. He was strongly tempted to 
yawn, stretch, and tramp around the room, 
but saying to himself, “He’s trusting me and 
I’ve got to behave just as if he were here,” 
he buckled down to his “job” again. 

A ray of light came to him from some un- 
known source, and with its help he worked 
along till he saw a clue, and then “the thing 
did itself,” as he told his father later. 

On the second day following, as Mr. Gardner 
came down into the hall refreshed by a good 
bath and change of raiment after a hot and 
trying business trip to a neighboring city, he 
heard steps outside and opened the front door 
to find Mr. Allen with his hand just grasping 
the bellpull. 

“Come in,” he said, cordially. 

“That I will,” replied Mr. Allen, promptly, 
“for you are the very one I want to see.” 

They went into the parlor, where Mr. Allen 
delivered to Mr. Gardner a number of papers, 
and then both men conversed rapidly and 
earnestly for a few minutes. 

As Mr. Allen was leaving they heard a voice 
calling, “Father! dinner,” and turning saw the 
Boy entering the back of the hall. 


HOW HIS OWN NAME CAME BACK 111 


“Come here. Boy,” said Mr. Gardner, and 
the lad came forward and greeted the master 
of Melton courteously. 

“Mr. Allen tells me you have done well this 
half-year,” continued Mr. Gardner, and then 
added to the departing caller, “I am very glad 
Richard is redeeming his past.” 

“Good-by, Dick,” said Mr. Allen as he 
started down the steps. “You have surely 
earned a happy vacation.” 

The Boy turned apologetically to his father. 

“’Scuse me, daddy, I didn’t mean to butt 
in. Mother asked me to tell you dinner was 
ready, and I didn’t know Mr. Allen was here.” 

“That was all right. Boy,” responded Mr. 
Gardner, “I happened to hear him and let 
him in before he rang.” 

The eager look on the Boy’s face yielded to 
a puzzled and pained expression. All through 
dinner and the evening he watched and lis- 
tened, but although his father and mother 
went over the tests and reports, commending 
him heartily for the improvement in his work 
and congratulating him on the “lOO-f-” mark 
which his geometry paper bore, he did not 
again hear the words for which he was so 
hungry. 


112 THE BOY WHO LOST HIS NAME 


“Queer,” he soliloquized as he made ready 
for bed, “Father sure said ‘Richard’ to Mr. 
Allen, and Mr. Allen called me ‘Dick.’ Why 
on earth didn’t he keep it up.^ He knew I 
heard and — ” 

A sudden recollection of his sentences made 
him pause. 

Yes, that was it. His father had not so 
addressed him, A poignant pain the disap- 
pointment gave him, but he found a little con- 
solation in the thought — “If he says it to other 
folks, p’r’aps he’ll say it to me pretty quick.” 

That was Thursday night, and he listened 
and waited with what patience he could muster 
all Friday and Saturday, turning over various 
thoughts in the meantime. 

Mr. Gardner came home early Saturday 
afternoon, and after a good rest and a fine 
frolic with Leonard and Ruth, he sat down 
in the porch swing. 

Seeing what he thought a good opening, the 
Boy suddenly asked, “What are you going to 
do with me this summer, daddy?” 

“I don’t just know,” responded Mr. Gardner, 
scanning him rather sharply. “Have you any 
suggestions?” 

“O I don’t know — it’s for you to say,” 


HOW HIS OWN NAME CAME BACK 113 


began the Boy bashfully, “only I thought 
maybe you — p’r’aps I — ” 

Mr. Gardner laughed. “Go on. Boy, don’t 
skip anybody, perchance mother, possibly 
Leonard, haply Ruth — ” 

The Boy laughed too, then he blurted it 
out so fast that the words almost got in each 
other’s way. 

“I thought maybe you could let me do 
something down at the office — ^p’r’aps I could 
do errands inside or out — or — isn’t there some- 
thing a fellow like me could do — to help you? 
I’d be so glad if I could and you’d let me.” 

Mr. Gardner looked thoughtful, and then 
they had a pleasant talk about the matter. 
His father found the Boy was really in earnest, 
and had already considered several lines of 
usefulness which they discussed at some length, 
taking Mrs. Gardner into the consultation 
during dinner. Afterward father and son 
strolled quietly about the garden and presently 
Mr. Gardner said, meditatively, “I’ve half a 
mind to let you try, Richard. You’re older 
than many a lad, like David, for example, 
who has to make his own way, and eight weeks 
in the summer won’t hurt you, I think. Why, 
what’s the matter, Dick?” 


114 THE BOY WHO LOST HIS NAME 


The Boy had gazed at him almost stupidly 
at first, then he had gripped his arm pain- 
fully tight and was whispering in intense 
excitement, “You said it, you called me it. 
O! did you mean it, father?’" 

“I certainly did, Dick,” and he smiled. 

“Dick” dropped his arm and darted back 
to the house. 

“O mother!” he gasped. 

“What is it, Dicky-bird?” 

“Why, did you know he was going to? Did 
father tell you?” he demanded. 

“No, not a word, but I saw it in your face.” 

“Where?” he asked, adding quickly. “Is 
Len asleep? Can I tell him?” 

“I think not — yes, run and tell him.” 

In the darkened room Dick felt his way to 
Leonard’s bedside. 

“I^n! Father’s called me by my name — 
I’ve got it back!” He tried not to shout the 
joyful news. 

“O brother!” Leonard sat up in his excite- 
ment. “Can I call you Richie now?” 

“Sure.” 

“Is it all clean and shiny?” 

“It’s clean, and it’s going to be shiny some 
day.” 


HOW HIS OWN NAME CAME BACK 115 


“Is it a nicked name?” 

“Yes,” Dick answered honestly and soberly, 
“it’s had a great big nick in it, but I’m going 
to mend it so people won’t know it was there.” 

“I’m awful glad,” and the tight clasp of 
the little fellow’s arms around his neck gave 
the older brother ample proof of the sincerity 
of his feeling. 

The Boy was dumb the rest of the evening. 
A silent grip of his father’s hand and a light 
kiss on his mother’s brow were his only good 
nights, but up in his room he found his tongue. 
He went to the window and gazed up into 
the starlit sky. 

“O God!” and his voice trembled, “I’ve 
got it back! It’s mine! Mine to keep and 
love and honor forever and ever!” 


CHAPTER XIV 


HOW HE FELT ABOUT IT 
FTER church next morning Richard won- 



dered if he could possibly see and tell 
Dr. Perry, he did so long to tell that sympa- 
thetic and understanding friend; but noticing 
the minister in the midst of a large and eager 
group, he gave up the idea for the time being. 
On the way to the Sunday-school room he 
almost ran into David. 

“Hello! You look mighty jolly. What’s up?” 

“Guess.” 

“You’ve made the school team?” 

“School’s done.” 

“Well, then it’s your name.” 

“Good work.” 

“Lot’s of fine things happening, aren’t 
there?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Why, I came first and got a three-decker 
name, then your Nitsie found the third story 
to his, and now you’ve got yours. And say, 
Lem got his new feet yesterday and they fit 


116 


HOW HE FELT ABOUT IT 


117 


real good. He stood up on ’em and took two 
steps all alone ’thout any cane or crutch — 
great, ain’t it? — isn’t it, I mean.” Coming 
closer he added, confidentially: “Lem’s a great 
chap. What d’yer think? He ’pologized once 
for bein’ huffy that time, and last night he 
grabbed me when I went to tell him good 
night and made me get up on the bed by him 
with his arms around me, and — and he thanked 
me for talkin’ so to him, truly he did, and we 
had a dandy talk after. Queer how good it 
makes a fellow feel inside to know that some- 
body else cares ’bout you, ain’t — ^isn’t it.^” 

The Boy stopped after the Sunday school 
session to help the substitute teacher put away 
the map and other aids for the lesson, so that 
when he left the room he found the vestries 
quite deserted. 

Just as he was about to descend the steps 
a hand was laid on his shoulder. 

“May I walk along with you, Richard?” 

“O! please do. Dr. Perry, but how — who 
told you?” 

“You did.” 

“I did!” 

“I knew it the minute I saw you come into 
church this morning.” 


118 THE BOY WHO LOST HIS NAME 


“Do I strut so?” and the Boy flushed pain- 
fully. 

Dr. Perry smiled. “Does your father?” 

Richard smiled too. 

“You have an air of self-respect and manli- 
ness now that you never had before, Dick.” 

“Isn’t it good of father to give it back to 
me so quick? I’ve thought sometimes I might 
have to wait a year or so, I deserved it all 
right.” 

“So quick!” The Boy had grown wonder- 
fully in those three months, thought the min- 
ister, and with a tender affection in face and 
voice that went deep into the heart of the lad, 
he asked “How is it with the other Father, 
Dick?” 

The glad look on Dick’s face brightened 
visibly. He nodded eagerly. 

“It’s all right there too. Dr. Perry. I’m 
going in for that new name you talked to us 
about. I wish I could thank you decently for 
helping me so much — ” 

“Don’t! Try to like me a bit instead. Little 
Brother.” 

Little Brother — Dr. Perry’s Little Brother! 
Did he care — that way? 

Then he looked up and rescued them both 


HOW HE FELT ABOUT IT 


119 


from embarrassment by saying, laughingly, 
“No, I can’t — not ‘a bit,’ I like you such an 
awful big lot now,” and with a hearty grip 
they parted. 

The rest of that day and Monday Richard 
was so unnaturally quiet that his parents 
would have been very anxious about him had 
they not seen in his looks and felt in his tones 
that for the time his feelings were too deep 
for utterance. 

As Monday was very warm, Mrs. Gardner 
decided to have a simpler meal than the usual 
dinner and serve it at an earlier hour on the 
porch, so that the whole family might share 
it and at the same time enjoy the cooler evening 
air. It was a merry occasion. Leonard par- 
ticularly was in high spirits and entertained 
the group with his delightfully original re- 
marks. After Ruth had gone to bed and 
Leonard had been settled in the porch swing 
as a starter toward dreamland, the Boy and 
his father had a most satisfactory talk during 
which the former learned that for six weeks 
he was to substitute for three of the younger 
employees while they were off on their two- 
week vacations, and in that way get an intro- 
duction to various phases of the work; the 


120 THE BOY WHO LOST HIS NAME 


last fortnight he would be his father’s oflSce 
boy, and then he and his employer would go 
to spend the remaining two weeks of the 
season with Mrs. Gardner and the children 
at the shore. 

The sunset that evening was rather unin- 
teresting, but was followed by a wonderful 
glow with radiating shafts of deeper tints 
rising nearly to the zenith. Richard and his 
parents watched the glorious color in silence 
for some time, then without disturbing the 
others the Boy rose and quietly stole away 
down to the rear of the garden. Presently 
Mr. Gardner missed him from his seat on the 
steps, and looking about for him spied his 
light figure giving an exhibition in gymnastics, 
running, tumbling and leaping, in the twilight. 
Suddenly after a high jump he fell heavily 
and lay perfectly still. 

Mr. Gardner sprang up and ran at full 
speed to the prostrate form. 

“Dick! O Dick!” he cried, “Where are you 
hurt? Is it bad?” 

“No, daddy, nowhere,” gasped the breath- 
less boy. 

“Are you sure?” pursued his father, anx- 
iously, bending down over him. 


HOW HE FELT ABOUT IT 


121 


“Sure, I’m all right, I’ll show you, in a 
minute,” said the boy between breaths. Then 
seeing that his father was seriously troubled, 
he rolled over and got to his feet. 

“Just wait a jiffy till I get my breath and 
I’ll prove it,” he said, still panting somewhat. 

A moment later he turned a cartwheel to the 
right, then another back, and gave a sample 
or two in the tumbling line, coming up face 
to face with his father. 

“Now do you believe me, daddy?” he 
demanded. 

“Yes, sonny,” and “sonny” fed his soul on 
the smile that beloved face wore. 

“I had to do something or burst, I’m so 
jammed full of happiness,” explained the beam- 
ing lad. “I’m more comfortable now, but I’m 
sorry I scared you and mother,” and he turned 
apologetically to Mrs. Gardner, who had fol- 
lowed more slowly. 

“Of course you had to, Dicky-bird. I’m 
only glad you didn’t break your neck trying 
to fly.” 

“You’re a peachy little mother,” and one 
arm went around her in a hearty embrace as 
he stood close beside her. Then he turned 
back to his father. 


122 THE BOY WHO LOST HIS NAME 

“You never had to lose your name, father, 
so you don’t know — you can’t — how glad I 
am to get mine back. And daddy,” he added, 
most earnestly, “God helping me, I’ll never 
dishonor it again, never; but I’ll make it so 
shiny that it’ll be fit to take along and show 
him by and by.” 

He caught his breath again, then with a 
shy wistfulness he begged, “Daddy, please will 
you say it to me once, all of it.^ It would 
sound so — so awful good to hear it.” 

Mr. Gardner grasped and held the hand 
which the Boy had extended as he pledged 
himself to the new aim, and said with hearty 
affection, “I am proud of you already, Dick, 
my son. God bless you always, Richard 
Ellison Gardner, Junior.” 



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